Fairytale Found
by inelegantprose
Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a man said, "My wife and I have been talking about adopting a little girl." And with those words a new family began its process of being born. [Now a loose collection of ficlets.]
1. Fairytale Found

Prompted by "Mind if I cut in?" and a crosspost from Tumblr. A sequel to Gravity if you really squint.

Fairytale Found

1\. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a man said, "My wife and I have been talking about adopting a little girl." And with those words a new family began its process of being born, of finding itself, almost five years to the day after a new republic started its own journey into being, almost twenty-nine years after they'd first been spoken in another corner of the galaxy, and just as Breha had finally found a daughter, now that daughter would find her own.

And in the story the man would later tell at bedtime those words were a magical incantation, more binding than blood relation, and he would ruffle up the little girl's hair and say that after that, his ship couldn't be made to navigate anywhere – it only wanted to lead them to her.

( _That's a very, ah,_ romantic _way of putting the navigation system collapsing into disrepair, isn't it?_ his wife would say.)

(And he'd say _Lynnie, your mama has no sense of destiny._ )

 _(Since when do you believe in destiny, hmm?)_

( _Since it led me to you, gorgeous_ , and he'd kiss his wife and the little girl would squeal and he'd attack her with tickles–– _And you, too. Millions of little girls in the galaxy but it led us straight to you._ )

2\. Leia, as she often did, had some ground rules.

She had to be a she, for starters – this was in honor of her parents' pledge, to adopt a little girl, and also because she feared female children might be seen as less valuable in other cultures and thereby less likely to be taken in.

She could not be a baby – _everyone wants babies, it's easy for a baby to get adopted_ – but she could not be old enough such that she'd recognize them, realize she was being adopted by the last princess of Alderaan and her war hero husband.

She could not have siblings, they couldn't take on more than one and Leia wouldn't separate siblings from one another.

She had to be Alderaanian, at least by parental heritage, because of course, and because there was still, ten years later, a serious crisis of children orphaned by parental suicide.

 _Anything else, sweetheart?_ he'd asked, teasing. _Hair color, eye color, play three instruments, good cook?_

Leia had pursed her lips, contemplative. _We have to love her terribly and immediately,_ she said seriously, even though it sounded more like a line from a faerie story than something a hardened political official would utter. _We cannot take a child into our home until we feel so much in love._

3\. She fell quickly and he fell slowly but both of them agreed that it was tremendously awkward at first, visiting this diasporic orphanage, her looking intimidatingly regal in a trim white dress and him towering over just about everyone, following the good-hearted but weary director through rooms of beds. _Like shopping,_ Leia had thought, wrinkling her nose, _I feel like we're shopping._

It did not help that the older children, the ones closer to five and six, recognized her immediately, clung to her skirt – _princess, it's the princess!_ But she made time for each of them, kneeling and smiling broadly and asking names and even using her sleeve to wipe jam off of faces, allowing dirty hands to track smudges all over her dress through clinging hugs. A little girl with huge eyes whispering to her friend – _I thought she was just a story, I didn't know she was real!_ Leia's heart aching to take all of them home and give them a good meal and a good bath, comb their hair into much neater braids. But they were here to start their family, not to save the world, for once not trying to save the world, and so they pressed on.

When they entered the room where the girls about the right age played and slept, he felt a flush of embarrassment and anxiety – what was he supposed to do, scan the room and find his daughter among all these itty-bitty messy-haired kids? Leia seemed to have more of a plan, had brought her favorite childhood picture book, the one with the soft illustration of a moonlit bat on the cover, and sat down easily among the motley group to read to them. _She looks so content,_ he thought, shifting awkwardly as he stood apart, watching her – her broad smile as she read, her native language – none of the children spoke Basic, as far as he could tell – sounding like a song. Answering questions and nodding and smiling, her delicate hands turning pages like each new development in the story was a precious revelation, her presence all graceful and bright.

He didn't want to get in her way but he also didn't want to just linger awkwardly so instead he summoned his courage and sat down on one of the impossibly small beds, where a particularly pale little girl was coloring contentedly alone, a purple crayon in her tight tiny grip making impressively controlled spiral after spiral. He cleared his throat – he'd learned a bit of the language beforehand, just a few phrases, and said hello.

She looked up at him and blinked. He blinked back, asked her her name.

"Lynnie." The voice shy and small and skeptical, curious. Coming out more like _Winnie_ , he wouldn't realize it wasn't that until later.

"Han," he said, feeling a little absurd, and she handed him a blue crayon and after a moment he drew a spiral too, then another, the two of them working quietly at drawing what was beginning to look like an entire galaxy, before he tilted his head towards where Leia was reading, walked with her over there, sat down quietly and tried not to act surprised when the girl made herself at home in his lap, playing curiously without hesitation with the buttons on his shirt, her expression still studious and shy.

Afterwards, Leia said, _That's her. I know it's her, I know it_ even though she didn't interact with the girl once. He had frowned – he hadn't felt – whatever it was she felt, not exactly, nothing like that's my daughter which he imagined felt a lot more intense than _this kid is really cute but also my legs are getting numb_. He'd asked how she knew, and she'd said _She made a home of you._

 _You'll see,_ she said, as she made plans with the director to come back and visit two weeks from then. _I know we've found her._

4\. When people asked her why she always had a different dry response: "I didn't want to lose my figure." "I despise all infants." "We just really can't risk twins and it runs in families." "Han and I are celibate." And people were always asking, yes, as soon as she made their intentions known – even her brother, who kept giving her low speeches about how there was nothing wrong with her blood.

How to explain – that it wasn't so much about blood but about choosing, the importance of choice, of a child knowing they were so, so wanted. What her parents had given her – the bedtime story of searching the galaxy far and wide for the perfect little girl to love. Something she'd thought about a lot, especially because there had been that abortion five, was it six?, years earlier. She wanted her child to have no doubts that she was blessedly, desperately wanted. She wanted to be sure. She never for one second considered anything else.

So they would never pick out names or change diapers, so she would never give birth – she'd been pregnant once anyway, hadn't much cared for it then. Blood relatives had formed her and Han into so little of who they were, had, excluding Luke, given them nothing but pain. They would give their daughter everything other than their lineage – their last names, their home, their unwavering devotion.

The little bedroom they painted cerulean, the sturdy white bed with the mesh guard so she wouldn't roll off in sleep, the drawers of soft overalls and cozy t-shirts and other clothes perfect to play in, the nightlamp with twin bulbs like the twin suns of Tatooine, the drawing of her and her soon-to-be father's co-mingled galaxy of swirls framed and displayed on the wall. On purpose, planned – Leia returning from each little visit with more notes about what Lynnie liked and disliked until finally they returned with the little girl herself, the one they'd built an entire new bedroom, republic, galaxy for – who looked up at the stars painted on the ceiling and pointed and jumped up and down, who fit perfectly.

Years later, this part of the story would become sacred: _Tell that part again, Mama? Again?_

 _We saw you and Mama knew immediately, knew it was you. I said, that's her, that's our little girl, it's her! At long last, we found her! We'd been looking for you for so very long,_

 _And then you found me._

 _And then we found you._

5\. She was learning Basic quickly but she was only three so her speech was a little hard to decipher and anyway she was shy, especially around Han, clinging to Leia's legs and whispering to her in Alderaanian and burying her face in the fabric of her long dresses. Each night he read the bat book to her, sometimes twice because like Leia she loved it, pronouncing the words as carefully as he could even though he didn't know what they meant, he just wanted to talk to her. _Lynnie, Lynnie._ Tacking her name onto the end of every line, repeating her name and tickling her until she screamed with laughter. He was trying desperately to learn enough of the language to properly communicate with her but there was only so much he could do – for now, Leia was translator when it came to talk.

But he never was one to communicate how he felt via words, anyway. They spent a lot of time coloring together, her sometimes babbling to him softly, seriously, always very serious. And then finally he found it: dancing.

And so he found her.

Yes – she loved dancing, he figured that out suddenly one afternoon, when Leia was out running errands and he flipped on a radio for news only to catch music instead. Some slow, crooning ballad. How the little girl had immediately stood up and swayed, twirled, her movements slow and serious, like she was being moved by a greater force, like she was gliding through so much water, like she could feel the music with her whole body. She could feel the music with her whole body. She was intuitive and innocent and moved like a princess, like a dream, and he realized he loved her.

Carefully, he scooped her up and she put her arms around his neck and he spun them very slowly around the room, something like a dance. When Leia appeared seemingly out of nowhere, he hadn't noticed her come in, and she tapped his shoulder, quipping "Mind if I cut in?" he'd not said anything, just pulled her close, the baby held tight between them as they swayed lightly, feeling something. Yes, he loved her. Yes, they'd found their family.

 _#_

I really don't write fluff often, but this was well-received on my Tumblr (which is under the same username) and I've been thinking about writing a bit more in this 'verse to combat Orbit angst, so I wanted to share here! Comments encourage more pieces with Lynnie...


	2. Nightmare Watch

_**I've been posting little ficlets in this 'verse on my Tumblr based on requests and figured I'd crosspost here as well. Thus – now a loose collection…**_

 _Jedi_fish81: I'm really curious about how you continue to build the relationship between Lynnie and Han. I really like how they seem to intrinsically understand each other but Han still seems so uncertain._

Nightmare Watch

He'd never noticed how quiet it had been, just the two of them, until it wasn't. The two of them, that is. Or quiet. Then it was like suddenly their tiny place was spilling over with sound, flooded, puddles of it everywhere perfect for splashing in – something a kid would see an adventure in. He found himself thinking that way a lot, recently – looking at things how a kid, their kid, might see them. First as a safety thing, like looking warily at everything in a _could this kill a toddler_ kind of way. Then with a little bit of amusement, smiling into his mug as shoeboxes became cradles for the ragged stuffed animals she'd brought with her, blue markers into a cold alien lipstick, crooning _Joli, Mama? Joli, joli?_

 _Joli, joli_ – that sweet, shy little voice, the kind that makes you worry you'll step on it – bitty and piping and always asking questions he couldn't interpret. Chatter everywhere, all over the place, and chatter maybe wasn't the nicest word but because he couldn't understand most of it it did feel a lot like chatter… in all their silent places that had never registered as places – suddenly a squeal coming from the closet, when had she gotten into their closet, and calling out from under piles of Leia's nice work clothes tugged down from the hangers and wearing heels on her hands: _qu'est-ce que c'est! Qu'est-ce que c'est!_

Babbling quietly to those ratty, well-loved toys, the group of which was collectively, protectively _mes amis, Mama!_ , always said with a little bit of fear, arms tight around them all, eyes huge and nervous. Talking to them always in her soft, tiny voice… He'd asked Leia once, leaning casually in the doorway while she tried to help the baby with her teeth as she chattered to her, what it meant, if it was a name or a place or something cultural, and Leia had laughed – i _t's just "my friends," Han. She's saying, "my friends, Mam, my friends!" I think it's hilarious – don't you think so?_

Leia walking around, too, with Lynnie trailing behind her, tugging on her dress and peppering her with questions – what sounded like questions – fragments, really, she was just a baby… and Leia prompting her, always, she was so damn insistent – _children need routine, Han_ – with questions and Basic and numbers and blocks.

Squatting in front of her and beaming at her, tucking flyaways back into her teeny-tiny buns and holding her hands and prompting, her voice a sing-song lilt, _Lynnie, Lynnie, quel âge as-tu? Quel âge as-tu, sweetness, hmm? How old are you?_ So careful to pronounce the Basic with the exact same intonation, matching up the little melodic pronunciation so the correlation was crystal clear – such a _fucking_ good mother, already, only a handful of weeks in? And when the baby took her thumb from her mouth and smiled all coy and soft and shy like the damn sweetest thing he'd ever seen and held up three fingers, whispering _Twois_ … Leia clapping her hands and saying _Yes, trois, you're three, can you say 'three'? Peux-tu dire 'three,' baby?_

… _Thwee…_

 _Oh, yes! Tu es tellement intelligent, yes-yes-yes…_ and swinging their held hands, repeating it over and over so it stuck, words everywhere, spilling into puddles, perfect for dancing and jumping and play.

There was a part of him that unambiguously loved it, loved the sound wafting through their place, making it feel like a home, loved all these new tones of Leia's voice – so often sharp, precise, commanding, who would've thought it possessed a million different shades of endearing and loving and playful?

They were just tones, though – tones he could only really half-parse, could only smile crookedly along with.

There was, though, some time that was still quiet – namely, nighttime. Silent, still… Daytime Leia translating back and forth between them with ease, going through dinner noting she says she had a very fun day, she says you're being silly without hesitation. Daytime – talk time – had always been Leia's domain, as long as he'd known her – explanation, interpretation, communication. He'd always been more adept at every nighttime thing: all stillness, all silence, all movement and touch and expression and instinct.

Every nighttime thing – a category which, until recently, did not include the following: namely, stirring in the middle of the night when something pulled on his arm and practically jumping back upon seeing the ghostly three-year old standing just beside him, thumb in her mouth, quivering and peering at him.

"Mm… Lynnie? Y'okay?"

She blinked in response, hugging herself tight with the arm whose hand's thumb wasn't in her mouth, and he could see the dimple in her elbow peeking out from just below the short sleeve of her little white nightgown. Small things illuminated in the blue light of night, lost in the blur of activity – crayons and blocks and _mes amis_ – of day. Something he hadn't noticed yet.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, mumbling gentle as he could, "Huh? Y'alright, sweetie?"

She sort of swiveled a little, lips trembling – right, she didn't know what he was saying, right…

For a moment he considered waking Leia, but it was so rare that she was really out cold like this, flopped on her stomach and snoring lightly, wiped from getting up with the kid so early and from so many hours of mommy "on"-ness…

That, and the fact that the little faerie ghostlike thing, eyes big like some kind of nocturnal bird, had come to _his_ side of the bed, not hers.

He found himself reaching out a hand and brushing it over her hair, smoothing it in a way he hoped was comforting, smiling just a twinge when she relaxed the arm hugging herself tight and instead twirled a loose thread with it. "Huh? What's wrong, baby?" Whispering now, all slow and soft. "D'you have a bad dream?"

She whispered something back shyly he didn't understand, but it didn't matter – he'd seen Leia through enough nightmares to know the afterward shakiness. Heck, he'd suffered through his fair share growing up – sure, what kid didn't – could still remember the way they through you from every reality you understood, how you'd wake up in the blue nighttime world and it'd feel like another spooky fantasy. A house bathed in blue suddenly not your house at all.

"Hey… d'you have a bad dream, sweetie? Mm, m'sorry, m'sorry, you're alright."

More to himself than her – but then again it was clear that even though she didn't know the words she knew the tone because she gave him a weak little smile, the kind of _I'm-being-brave_ smile he'd worn so often as a little kid. A kid who was so sure no one would want him, who'd maybe seen stuff kids shouldn't see. A kid like he'd been, a kid like him.

What he would've given, to wake up after a bad dream and have a nightlight to guide the way to the door, someone's hand to tug. A big, warm bed to crawl into, the feeling like someone would keep watch after him. Something Leia had had, he'd never had… three weeks ago when Lynnie had a nightmare, had there been a place for her to toddle over to? Someone whose hand she could tug?

Thinking she must think a lot of him, then, in her toddler way. To make the long trek down the blue nighttime hallway. So confident someone on the other end would scoop her up and hold her close and keep watch over her. Not confidence, trust. Trust in him. In _him_ …

"Alright. You wanna sleep in here? Huh?" Pulling back the blanket then, scooting over, and patting the spot beside him. "S'alright, you can sleep in here. S'okay."

She broke into a wide smile then, all those tiny teeth Leia'd brushed so well twinkling at him, and then suddenly – darted out of the room.

"Lynnie?" He rolled out of bed, then, stumbled down the hall… "Lynnie?" Whisper-calling, careful not to wake Leia.

And then she was back, her arms full out that motley menagerie. Few things she knew of as hers, maybe someday she'd see the two of them as hers, maybe she already did. Whispering, shy and embarrassed, "Amis…"

"Right, of course. Gotta have your guys." Tapped each of their frayed, greying heads – each understuffed thing, so unrecognizable, probably salvaged from everyone else's discards, made into her most important accomplices. "Friends."

"Fwiends," she echoed.

"Yep, they're your friends, gotta have 'em looking out for you, gotta look out for them. C'mon now, up. Gotta be quiet so we don't wake your mama." He scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck easily, automatically – and he carried her back towards the big bed.

"Wake Mama?" she echoed softly, pressing her face to his neck.

"Yep, all awake, like grumpy and tired… no good."

"No good," she echoed, the words all soft edges out of her mouth, and it almost was like she was agreeing with him, trusting him.

He put her down soft on the middle of the bed and watched her very meticulously arrange all of her friends in her arms, so that she could hug them all equally. A sweet, soft, fair little thing. She'd be neurotic, like – her mother, Leia was her mother. She'd be loyal, like him.

And then once he got back into bed, she was immediately snuggled up against him, warm and at easy. No trembles anymore.

"Mmmm… hi, baby, hi…" Leia, then, mumbling and only half-awake, sweeping her arm out and fumbling to pat the baby's back. "Qu'est ce qui se passe, honey… are you alright?"

"S'under control, princess," he murmured, finding her outstretched hand with his and giving it a squeeze, and he could feel her fall back to sleep. Trusting, satisfied with his answer, content enough to drop right back off into her dreams.

He looked at Lynnie, holding all of her friends so close, and watched as her grip slowly relaxed as she drifted back into sleep, certain they'd still be there in the morning. He'd still be there, waiting for her, keeping watch for any nightmares, in the morning.

 _Reviews feed my fluff habit._


	3. Sickbed Whisper

_Otterandterrier: okay, I couldn't stop thinking about your part 2 of the Lynnie 'verse last night! and I was thinking... she calls Leia "Mama", but I don't think she's referred to Han as her father yet? is there any chance you'll ever write the first time she calls him papa or daddy?_

Sickbed Whisper

She had a funny way of talking, then, all two blurred languages and toddler talk and strange little possessives. Would tug on his leg and ask _Ou my mama est?_ all business – _where my mama is?_ Announcing she was gonna go sit with her mama, that her mama had a nightgown also, that her mama ate sandwiches too.

 _She think I don't know ya or something?_ he murmured to her one night, arms around her waist from behind as she worked through the dishes – _all this "my mama" talk?_

 _Oh, I think it's more – asserting that we belong to her permanently, right? Or else just baby-speak – I like to think that she likes to reiterate that she's ours, though…_

Though there was a voice in his head that did want to ask – ours, or yours? Whispering to Luke, to Carlist, to anyone she met, her eyes wide and serious and eager – _my mama est là-bas, my mama vient d'Alderaan_. My mama, my mama… and _damn_ , that little voice – how it made everything sound like a special secret, confessing softly into your ear about loving her yellow striped dress, vanilla pudding, like you were her most prized confidante.

Soft and secretive, small and shy, until one awful-as-hell night – then _fuck_ , he'd never heard anyone cry out so loud and strangled, screaming and crying. By then it was maybe 0200, and Leia had been sitting with her in the 'fresher for hours, _hours_ – perched on the lid of the tub, the baby straddling her waist like a spider, hot red tear-stained face pressed to her neck, puke in her hair… crying… He'd been tortured, seen torture, but there wasn't anything quite like pacing back and forth in the unit and hearing those hysterical cries coming out of the 'fresher.

He could hear Leia's voice, too, as she did her best to murmur reassuringly, even though, he knew, she definitely had vomit on her and was definitely worn way, way down from the many, many hours of soothing the at turns feverish and freezing baby through vomit and diarrhea. Rubbing her back and sighing tiredly… "I know, baby, I know it hurts… yes, I know, Mama knows, Mama's here… Han, please, I need you–– _"_

"Here, right here," he called, moving to lean in the doorway and holding out the refilled sippy cup to Leia. She took it gratefully, sighing again loudly, and Lynnie groped desperately for it, but Leia held it back for a moment.

"Peu à peu, please, very slow… small sips, precious…"

Instead the toddler slurped desperately, to the point that he watched Leia wrestle the cup out of her little grasp, inciting another round of hysterical cries. "She's throwing up _everything_ , Han, even water if she has more than a little," Leia explained desperately, trying to avoid Lynnie's thrashing hands. "And her fever won't break, and she's trembling so badly – Han, I don't know what to do…"

 _I don't know what to do –_ the first time he'd ever heard her even _express_ something like that, the whole time of this crazy adventure – picky eater, she knew what to do, language barrier, she knew what to do, teaching numbers, making introductions, rules on clean-up, she knew it – bath-time, she knew it – but holding a thrashing, sick toddler in the night, a fever, somehow – _Leia_ didn't know what to––?

Trying to bounce her and hold her tightly – "Do we have – fever-reducers, any of those pills from when I was sick last year? Or––?"

"Mm, dose won't be right," he muttered, mostly to himself – he could feel his heart in his chest as he watched the baby, her face scrunched up tight, weeping, trying to bury herself in Leia's skin…

"Should we just wait it out?" Leia asked anxiously. "I mean, will it break? Surely she can't keep getting sick for much longer, she doesn't have a thing in her stomach anymore…"

"I think we should just – make her comfortable, focus on getting her comfy, okay?" Reaching out to stroke the baby's damp, sticky hair… "Comfy, okay sweetie? Alright? More comfy?" Hoping the sound and tone would reassure her even when the words wouldn't mean much.

Leia was still looking up at him in mild terror, and he squeezed her hand. "She's gonna be fine – I'll go get her some clean pajamas, okay? Be right back."

Leia nodded rapidly and he turned to go, quick enough that he almost didn't hear it, moaned sleepily and weak into Leia's neck – _veux-mon-da…_

Could hear Leia, a bit, murmuring back to her – "Hmm, honey?"

A little louder, then, as he rifled through her things to grab a new nightgown. "Veux-mon- _da…"_

"Shh, shh… Mama's here…"

"Veux mon _da…_ veux mon _da_ ––"

"Veux-tu ton da, baby? You want your da?"

"Veux… _veux…_ "

"Han? I think she wants you, can you––" and then was cut off by the baby gagging into the toilet from her spot on Leia's lap, keening, crying, and then he was there before he realized it, crouching beside them, helping Leia to hold back all that fragile hair, rubbing her back as she shivered and gagged––

"Gotcha-gotcha-gotcha, sh-sh-sh… s'okay, s'okay…"

Reaching for some tissue to wipe her chin, her mouth, then squeezing Leia's trembling hand to reassure her too. "You're okay, Lynnie, you're okay." Petting her hair – "Here, okay? Gonna swish some water in your mouth, okay?" and demonstrating with a handful from the sink, giving her the sippy to do it too – kissing her hair, reaching for a clean towel to bundle her up in.

That delicate little voice – "Veux mon da…"

"Won't she just get warmer?" Leia asked anxiously as she let him take the baby into his arms.

"Hmm, no, here we go…" He grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water, pressing it to her forehead firmly and rubbing her back with his other hand. "Mmm, see, you're okay, you're okay…" He kissed her hair, sighing. "In a little bit I'll rinse out her hair with some cold water, that should help too… get her in some clean pajamas…"

"You're amazing," Leia breathed gratefully, running her fingers through her own sweat-drenched hair. "She hasn't stopped crying since… I don't know when…"

"Think the worst is over," he replied easily, rocking Lynnie lightly.

"Mmmm… I can take her back, if you'd like to go back to bed…" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Think I'm alright here, princess. Right baby? We're alright. You though – get some sleep?"

"Okay…" she said reluctantly, and she kissed the baby's slick forehead, murmuring to her softly before slowly heading to their bedroom.

He held the baby closer as she blinked sleepily, surprised to find himself – was he singing, softly? More just breathing out the words, rocking her very gently, resting his chin on top of her head. Words in an old language he didn't really remember, something about a cat, a clock, being at home… something someone had sung to him once but he barely remembered, but she would remember him singing to her, holding her tight on the cool bathroom tile in the dark, blue night… singing her to sleep, til her breath was slow and even…

He shifted slightly to re-soak the cloth, detangling himself from the baby for what he considered just a second to do so, and that's when it happened, whimpered so soft he almost missed it, keened into his shirt when he tried to pull away – "daaAAAAdddddyyyyyy…"

He'd been so certain she was asleep, half-thought she was now – she'd never said – surely she was – "Mm, baby? Shh…"

Her eyes, though, had blinked open, and she was nuzzling her cheek against his shirt and clinging to it desperately, hands still hot and slick. "No… daaaaaaAAAAAAdddDDyyyy…" Eyes saying everything – eyes saying what his eyes had said, to too many people, when he was a kid – saying _stay, stay…_

He scooped her back up and brushed over her forehead with the cloth again, let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding for weeks and weeks and weeks. "Sh-sh-sh… daddy's here, not going anywhere. Daddy's gonna stay."

 _Reviews are like snuggles when you're sick._


	4. First Introductions

_Anonymous_ _asked: How about Lynnie meeting Chewie for the first time? And/or Luke?_

First Introductions

1\. They'd anticipated her being spooked. Or rather they'd prepared for it – if only because she seemed a little spooked by everything – sleeping in a room all her own, bug on the windowsill, hyperspeed, crowds. Not the kind of kid who was shrieking or squealing, demanding, whiney – but she did have a tendency to race to safety behind Leia's leg, clutching to her pants and trembling until the designated awful thing had passed or else been proven harmless. They had a little private fun of it, sometimes – trying to piece together what had sent her running and hiding, coaxing her out to let a dragonfly rest on her little finger, explaining hyperspace as more shooting stars than shooting. There was a part of Leia that secretly loved these moments, even though she never would have imagined a child of hers would be shy. Loved both the part where she was clung to as the safe thing, and also where she could prove the world she'd sacrificed so much building to be safe.

So after all that pre-explaining – to her, then to Chewie, all _she's skeptical of any new thing, she's afraid of most humans let alone_ – it was quite the – _surprise_ , the pleasant, pleasurable surprise, that what happened during her first encounter with his best friend was one very small little girl walking right up to one very tall Wookiee with her thumb in her mouth and tilting her head back to peer _aaaalllll_ the way up, before extracting the thumb and declaring, voice small but serious, "Tu es grand."

Leia's voice, amused and translating the obvious: "She said, 'You're tall.'"

Chewie's bellowing laugh, then, and though they were sure that forceful sound would send her spiraling, Lynnie smiled, all tiny teeth, and laughed too – then _shrieked_ with laughter as he scooped her up in his arms, flipping her upside down and making a show of ruffling her hair and tickling her until she screamed. Han and Leia maybe would've started slower – indeed, they had, that careful courting of a would-be child, that slow build to unbridled physical affection – but that's why they were Han and Leia, and that's why he was Chewie – and that's what family did, made a half thing whole.

2\. Luke they'd prepped differently – when he first came to dinner he came on a night they were having her favorite meal, with bright connecting blocks in his knapsack for her to play with, with the knowledge that if she really disengaged he could always levitate some of her stuffed animals to make her squeal. Mostly Leia's doing – _I want to stack the deck,_ she'd said bluntly as she sifted through the cabinet for the complex combination of spices in Lynnie's favorite Alderaanian dish. _I want to make it impossible for her not to love him._

(It went without saying that it would be impossible for him not to love her. Leia cast a glance over to where she talked softly to her stuffed animal friends, her face alight with the imaginative expression of each persona she took on – what wasn't to love?)

So – they'd stacked the deck, with favorite food and rainbow blocks and magic tricks that maybe weren't what the Force was intended for but wasn't this another kind of connection forged between living things, anyway? Leia was ready with a hundred reasons for Lynnie to love Luke – _et il aime aussi les animaux, honey, like you –_ yes, she had mapped out this evening to be perfect, managed the baby's mood all day so she'd be amicable and open-minded, she could manage this too, choreograph a falling-in-love like her busy schedule or a revolution…

But when he walked in the door, calling out _Hey you guys, it's me!_ like he always did, like "you guys" hadn't crossed from two into three, it turned out the opening line she'd spent the day crafting wasn't needed at all, because the toddler, curious at the new voice, had sprinted in her socks to the door and then shrieked, hand flying to her mouth almost as if in a silent-vid enactment of shock – " _Jaune!_ "

Leia jogging after her – "Slow down, honey – ralentis––"

"Mama, jaune! Jaune!" And pointing, hand shaking in excitement, up at his hair.

Luke ran his fingers through his hair a bit self-consciously, looking at his sister with a quizzical smile. "I don't…?"

" _Yellow,"_ she translated, laughing a little in spite of herself as Lynnie tugged on her leg and pointed again. "As in, you're blonde – she's never seen someone with blonde hair, I don't think. And she _loves_ yellow – right honey? Tu aimes le jaune?"

"Joli– _Ma_ ma – jaune!" Pointing again, doing a little theatrical gasp. "Oh!"

Leia brought her hand up to her mouth, too, trying to hide her laughter, and gave a gasp of her own: "Oh!"

And then suddenly Lynnie was flying right from her leg to Luke's, clutching it and beaming up at him.

"And here I thought I'd have to bribe my way into her heart," he joked good-naturedly, reaching a tentative hand down to ruffle her hair.

"Love at first sight," Leia said affectionately, half-teasing, half-serious.

"She knows who her family is."

3\. This one a little later, and disguised as a letters exercise – one that required sitting crosslegged in the grass, which in turn distracted from why-was-Mama-wearing-black with the thrill of Mama-sitting-in-dirt even though it meant her dress getting dirty. Mama sitting in black, sitting crosslegged, sitting in dirt; the baby on her lap wearing black velvet and looking like a little raven dream, with eyes all big and innocent. Her chin resting on the top of her daughter's head, hand on her wrist as her small finger traced the etchings in the obsidian plaque.

"B…"

"Good, baby, mhm." She kissed her hair and took a moment to inhale – the sweet smell of the starfruit shampoo, the one Han lathered too much of in the bath and used to style her hair into fantastical spikes, making her shriek with delight.

"R… E…"

He was still inside, then, mingling at the reception and no doubt trying to find an easy escape; she herself was technically only supposed to be taking Lynnie to the 'fresher, this little church-side meadow excursion a stolen moment of privacy in the midst of all that remembering inside. She felt a little bad, that she hadn't grabbed him too, but he'd find them eventually – he had a knack for these things, and he always did.

"H…"

"Mhm, and that last one?"

"…A?"

"Yes, mhm, d'accord, good." She pointed a little over. "And this?"

"B…"

"Yes, and then…"

"A… I…"

"Yes…"

"…L."

"Perfect, baby," she said, and she kissed her hair again, giving her a little squeeze.

"Ça dit quoi, Mama?"

"Bail. C'est mon père." Kissed her hair a third time. "And Breha, my mama." A fourth.

"Mama's mama?"

"Yes."

Lynnie frowned and squirmed off of Leia's lap. "Oh." She kicked her shoes in the dirt slightly – "Where my da is?"

Leia sighed at the apparent wane in the toddler's attention. "Inside, honey… he'll be out soon. Bientôt."

"Mmm… very bientôt." Han, then, his low voice behind her, his pronunciation atrocious, headed their way. "Finally found you guys."

"I'm sorry," Leia confessed, rising and turning to embrace him. "I just – we got distracted, and I needed some air…"

"No need to apologize." He kissed her forehead and held her tight. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm alright, I've been better… she's oblivious, I think, which is probably for the best."

"Been thinking about them a lot, recently, haven't you."

"How could I not be?" She sighed, resting her head on his chest, appreciating how it felt, to feel close to him. "Just – having her here, with me, for the first time – _visiting…_ it's so… I just wish they could…"

He kissed her hair gently. "I know." Then started, apparently caught off guard by something he saw over the top of her head. "Sweetie, get up out of there – what're you _doing_?"

"What is she––"

Leia turned – the baby was splayed out in the dirt, on top of the plaque, her arms spread wide across it, cheek against the cool stone.

"Say hi," came her muffled, indignant voice.

Han sighed loudly. "Get up, Lyn, you're making a mess––"

"Say hi – _hug_ ," she clarified, and she lifted her head to frown at them both, indignant.

Leia crouched beside her, her lips parting slightly. "You're saying hi with a hug?"

Lynnie nodded vigorously, small, soft arms still embracing. "How say hi _famwy._ "

"Yes, that's right," she gasped, feeling herself trembling, just a bit, with too much emotion. "That's how we say hi to family."

 _Reviews are like Leia honoring & loving her late parents while remaining optimistic and excited about what the future holds. _


	5. Midnight Hunger

_For otterandterrier, who was promised fluff in exchange for writing a snippet – it isn't quite fluff, it's a bit more serious, but I hope you enjoy._

Midnight Hunger

It started at dinner.

Or rather she would've said it started earlier but to him it started then, when he felt her nudge his inner sole with the tip of her foot and tilt her head meaningfully midway through the meal. He glanced over at the baby, saw no obvious signs of distress – heard nothing in her quiet babble that sounded like the Alderaanian equivalent of whining or cajoling or anything he expected from a three-year-old eating trying new food ("I _always_ ate what my parents ate and I ate it right beside them; children shouldn't be relegated to a separate table with only bland mush on plastic plates") – and frowned at Leia. In return, Leia raised her eyebrows and tilted her head again before dropping her eyes to her food and pressing her lips together. He looked a moment longer at Lynnie and then he noticed what Leia was noticing. Namely, that if Lynnie kept this up she was probably going to choke.

She was perched on a few cushions so her head really should be higher – instead it was maybe four inches from the plate and her cheeks were practically _bulging_. Leia had meticulously cut Lynnie's food into perfect little bites and those little bites were now being shoveled into her tiny mouth very, very fast. Hardly chewing... Most of all, he noticed her expression: so intense and focused and serious, staring straight at her plate. Solemn, practically – and his chest ached and he thought _fuck, baby, fuck…_

"Slow down, sweetie, hey-hey-hey." He set his palm on her back to get her attention and she practically _jumped,_ jerking back – "Whoa, baby, s'just me…" A quick look at Leia, and she was quick to cut in, reaching her hand across the table without hesitation and squeezing Lynnie's tightly, searching her eyes.

"Avais-tu peur, honey? Regarde Mama – hey. Hey…" She gave her a reassuring smile and stroked her hand and Han couldn't stop thinking about his hand, how it had touched her and made her scared. Had never done that before – sure their relationship wasn't nearly like what hers was with Leia but they'd get there soon, and she loved when he carried her, swung her around… his hand had touched her back when she was eating and she had jumped. Another warm, genuine smile from Leia, who was so careful and deliberate about finding the baby's eyes when she spoke to her. "Hey, 'loved. You're okay here."

Lynnie, who had been trying to hide her face behind her plate, finally smiled back at her a teeny bit, all shy. " _Sowwy._ "

Leia reached out again and smoothed her hair gently and still he thought about his hand, how it had burned her like that. "There's nothing to be sorry about, honey. No sorry. Okay? No-no. D'accord?"

"... d'accowd."

"Good. Go on and play now. Lynnie? Go on, aller chercher tu amis."

She went off after Leia had given her a few more reassuring smiles and squeezes, and once she had cleared out Leia turned to him and raised her eyebrows way up, widening her eyes, as if to say, _See what I mean?_

He was still looking after her, jaw set rigid.

" _Han_."

"Wha – er, sorry, I––"

"Oh, Han – please don't worry, please." She squeezed _his_ hand then, trying to catch his eye. "She did it to me this afternoon during her lunch – she really just jerk exactly like that, it really upset me too."

"Yeah. Yeah, no, m'fine."

"I know she can be a teensy bit jumpy but she's been improving so much – but then you saw – I mean, you did see the way she was – she was eating so _fast._ "

"Yeah, I saw." Still looking after her, still tense.

"Is she – could she possibly be so hungry? She looked so _serious_ too – it's very troubling, I just..."

He waved his hand clumsily, dismissive, not really hearing her – "Leia, could you just––"

She was already clearing the table, lips pursed. "Oh, please don't speak to me like that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to – sorry. M'sorry, let me help."

But he was in his own head for the rest of the night – sitting on the sani just watching her play in the bath, sing-songing to herself in Alderaanian as she carefully navigated her plastic boats, looking on quiet as Leia combed out her hair and whispered in her ear and made her giggle. Leia had to come get him and prompt _Aren't you going to come say goodnight? –_ when they made it over to her room she was already asleep. When he went to turn in and Leia was still at the kitchen table hunched over her work and rubbing her eyes instead of cajoling her into bed he let her yawned "Oh, I'll just be a little longer, I don't want to leave this undone" lie even though he knew she'd be up for at least another hour. Laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, thought about eating fast, flinching, jerking away. Those big eyes flashing at him when he put his hand on her back. That serious little face, four inches from her plate. He knew that kid. He knew that face.

The next day when he came home in the evening (because she was still home then – had rather famously given the iciest of stares to anyone who'd raised questions about her taking a maternity leave – Leia who spent her days doing full work at home while easily assenting to the baby's desire to never let go of her leg, who was a _perfect_ mother), she pulled him straight to the baby's room by the wrist before pulling the blanket and top sheet back. There on the mattress: the remains of a whole sleeve of crackers, what looked like wrappers for some of those bars Leia substituted for breakfast, some berry stems, cookie crumbs…

Han nodded slowly, setting his jaw. "Huh."

"I was stripping the beds––"

He took a moment to linger on the sheer improbability of hearing her say those words – _I was stripping the beds,_ gods, who _was_ she – before interrupting with, "Yeah, no, I get it…"

"I don't know what to even – I'm so…" This was maybe the first time he'd seen her, in this whole time, looking genuinely… not even confused or distraught but… _sad…_

"Y'know what this is, yeah?" he said in a low voice, moving closer to sift through the crap on the bed, letting his fingers fall on every hungry thing.

"I think I can guess." She was hugging herself, face back to being business and collected. "Have you ever heard her? In the middle of the night?"

"Nah but she's light on her feet."

"Still." Hugging herself tighter, breaking a bit. "I'd like to think I'd hear her. Wake up."

He nodded to himself. Voice still low. "Where's she now?"

"I think playing under the kitchen table with her friends."

"Mhm." Stems, wrappers, crumbs... She was so _tiny_ – how her tiny stomach must have _hurt_ … fuck…

"I'm so – _angry,_ I'm so – where is the oversight on these facilities, where are the people who are supposed to be _advocating_ for these – _children_ , Han it's outrageous…" Going through the motions of righteous indignation when her voice actually sounded very unsure and scared. Very young, she sounded very young. She was still so young – there was still – he never thought he'd say this – a helluva lot she didn't know…

"Yeah." He turned a wrapper over in his hand. "Outrageous."

"Han?" Her voice sounding impossibly small. "When you were – when you were young? Did you ever…?"

Running his fingers over the soft sheet, the one Leia had so meticulously selected, so ready to give her everything, so optimistic. His voice was completely and totally flat. "Yeah, Leia, I stole food as a kid."

"Not – not when you were hungry, though." So small, so nervous. "I mean, afterwards. Later, once you – had enough?"

"I didn't ever – 'have enough' then. When I was a kid. I just – grew up. Alright?"

Her hands on his shoulders, kneading softly, her face pressed against his back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"S'alright." He took another look at the bed and then he began to briskly sweep the mess of the bed and into a small waste basket. "I can talk to her."

She opened her mouth and he sighed, edgily enough that she flinched in response––

"Yeah, you can translate. Obviously. But – yeah. Yeah. Tonight, before she goes to bed. I'll talk to her."

He was off on the Falcon during dinner and after and Leia could only pick at her food, watching the baby shovel and gently putting her hand on her wrist to remind her to slow down every few moments, her movements slow so as not to startle her. Watching her thinking _how much can I do, how much can I give you? How much more can I give you, because I will give it to you, I want you to have it._ Lynnie's shy, silly smile – "Ma-ma, por _quoi_ tu is _looking_ at me?"

"Just 'cause je t'aime, baby." _Did she know that? Does she know that? Should I say it more? How can I make her know?_ Tonight she slipped into the bath with her, let the baby try to shampoo all of her long hair, she'd squealed with delight, _did she know, do you know, do you know how much you mean to us?_ Not sure who she was talking to, in her mind, anymore - thinking to Han, too, _don't you know? Don't you know how much you mean to us?_ "'Cause I love you very much."

She was under the covers with the baby, both of them in white nightgowns with wet braided hair – her favorite kind of night. She'd been given three of the "friends" to hold – " _these_ with _you,_ Mama, d'accowd?" – and she clutched them eagerly – maybe if she held them tight enough she would know, know how much she meant to them? Her _favorite_ kind of night – Lynnie clinging to the collar of her nightgown and whispering into her ear everything she thought a secret, her hushed voice slipping between Basic and Alderaanian to confess that sometimes she liked to take a nap on the floor under the kitchen table, sometimes her "friends" liked to sleep in Mama's bed, sometimes she held up a towel and pretended her hair was all long and pretty like her mother's.

"Guess what?" she kept whispering in Lynnie's ear, serious and solemn.

And every single time she looked up at Leia anxiously, seriously, nervous. "Wha?"

" _Je t'aime."_

And always she acted like she was so happily surprised and pressed her face to Leia's breasts to hide how gleefully embarrassed she was at her big silly smile and Leia thought _how many times do I have to say it before she isn't surprised anymore?_ How many times had Han – she was still surprised, maybe, sometimes, when he said it.

She stroked Lynnie's wet braids and thought about Alderaan, and home, and someone saying Mama – her mother never hearing someone call her Mama – but she liked to think her mother would be proud. She liked to think of her mother. She liked to think about calling up her mother and crying out _How do I make everything perfect for her? How can I smooth it all, make it all perfect?_

She was still stroking her hair contemplatively when the bedroom door cracked open a bit more, more light streaming in. Lynnie clutched at the front of her nightgown and Leia sat up, patting her hair and murmuring a few words before squinting in the light. "Han?"

"Sorry, I – sorry, lost track of time. Hey, you guys." He waved his fingers lightly and Leia felt Lynnie move to rest her head in her lap, content and comforted that it was him.

"Where've you – … it doesn't matter. Come say goodnight."

"I actually…" He shifted, then came in and kneeled beside the bed and brushed his hand Lynnie's hair in her lap. "Hey, baby… you still awake?"

Leia's soft voice, sounding not so much like a reminder of everything still between them but instead a gentle echo, a reinforcement – her and me both, we love you very much, your mama and I. "Es-tu réveillé?"

She nodded sleepily, peering at him, putting her thumb in her mouth.

He stroked her hair, smiling a little at her. Fond. "Can I show you something?"

 _Her and me both, we love you very much, your mama and I._ "Peut-il te montrer quelque chose?"

She plucked the thumb out and gave a little nod. "...Otay."

"Okay. Good." And then he was lifting her up easily, kissing her hair quickly before heading off to the kitchen, Leia trailing behind, curious.

He stopped before the fridge and shifted her to his hip before opening it and whispering something to her, Leia couldn't quite make it out. Something – in Alderaanian, was that possible? It sounded vaguely like it, but that couldn't be right. The same word, repeated as he held her while lightly. It took her a second to recognize it, and then she placed it – _Plenty._

And then – moving around all of the food, as if demonstrating it and – had he learned, did he really know the Alderaanian names for almost everything in their fridge? Touching and then leaning fully into the fridge so she could touch too. Everything they had, each word, her correcting him while giggling when he got it wrong. And then again – _plenty._ Opening every drawer of produce, peering into each carton of milk or juice, counting eggs, letting her inspect it all. See for herself.

See for herself – what would Leia have done? Probably sat her down and talked to her, prepared a speech; he was saying very little other than these few words, instead gamely unscrewing tops so she could peek at how much jelly they had left, how much tomato sauce. Letting her see it for herself. _Plenty. Plenty._ Dipping and lifting her to reach every crevice. Patient when she stuck her fingers places, squeezed fruit, made his shirt sticky and stained. Moving through each cabinet too. Patient. _Plenty._

"Assez pour toi and moi and your mama, okay, baby? Assez. Beaucoup." Tapping her nose. "Okay, baby?"

Smiling a little shy, whispering around her thumb. "... otay."

"Promise? Okay? You've got it?"

Taking out her thumb and smiling a little more. "Ye-es."

"Okay. C'mon now."

And then they were sitting cross-legged on the floor and he was opening one of the few drawers she could reach, pulling out a metal box with a lid – something from the Falcon? Shined up a bit – and was he pointing along the side, the letters of her name, carved in there? She was tracing it, repeating back the letters all soft.

"That's you, right?"

"C'est me."

"Okay. Good. This is for you. You only. Okay? Just you."

"Just me."

"Okay. Open it up now. Go on."

She glanced back at Leia, who nodded. "Ouvrez-le, honey."

She opened it slowly and he was biting his lip, wearing a crooked, nervous smile.

Leia's hand flew over her mouth. Lined up so neatly, maybe twelve in all, were tiny bags of snacks, perfectly portioned. "Only you. Okay? For – Lei, how d'you – 'middle of the night'?"

"Au milieu de la nuit… oh, _Han..._ "

"Au milieu de la nuit. If you're hungry. Er – it's affamé, right? Affamé. Milieu de la nuit. Okay? Just one, okay? Une? But it's yours, baby, all for you. Okay?"

She was running her fingers over each little bag, then retracing her name along the side. "Moi."

"Yes. You. Lynnie. Okay?"

"Otay."

"Okay. Bedtime now. Go on and put it back."

"Répondez, honey." Leia, faintly, unable to look away from them.

Lynnie returned the box to the drawer and closed it, then turned to him and held up her arms.

He was so cool, so calm – like this was parenting as usual, no big deal. "You want up? Okay, we can do up. C'mere now."

Instead she rushed forward and hugged him tightly, almost too tight – clinging hard, not saying a word.

"Hey, alright – hey-hey." Hugging her back warmly, a little surprised. "Mm, hey there, you." He rested his chin on the top of her head and mumbling, so quiet Leia almost missed it. "Hey, you. 'Ve been there. I know. I'll look out for you, alright? Just – mm – gotta trust me, alright? I know."

Lynnie's confused whisper as he scooped her up, glancing at Leia for translation. "Quelle?

"Mm, nothing. Je t'aime, je t'aime."

She smiled a little into his neck as they headed back to her room, Leia lingering in the kitchen. "Oh… je le sais…" _Oh, I know that._

"What's that, hon?"

Yawning wide as he settled her into her bed. "Je le sais – je t'aime – love tu."

He beamed and kissed her forehead. "Hey. I love you too."

When he was back in the kitchen Leia was waiting there, leaning against the table, contemplating him.

"Hey. Sorry I missed bedtime, I––"

"How do you say 'it's okay' in Corellian?"

"Hmm… _vse normal'no_."

She nodded. "What about, 'you amaze me every single day'?"

"Mm…" His voice low and content as he watched her move closer to him. "Something like – _vy menya udivlyayete kazhdyy den_."

"What about, 'you're an incredible father'?"

" _Ty neveroyatnyy otets_."

Her arms around his neck, her lips along his jaw. "And I'm so lucky and grateful."

" _I mne tak povezlo i blagodarno._ "

"And I love you."

" _I ya lyublyu tebya._ "

"And I love you very much."

" _I ya ochen' lyublyu tebya._ "

"And I love you _so_ very much, Han."

" _I ya ochen, ochen lyublyu tebya._ Leia." He reached up and smoothed her hair. "Approximately."

He ducked his head slightly to kiss her, but she stopped him. "Wait. Repeat it one more time."

" _Ya ochen, ochen lyublyu tebya,_ Leia _._ "

She nodded seriously. "Slower?"

" _Ya ochen, ochen lyublyu tebya,_ Leia _._ "

" _Ja… ochen, ochen... lyoo-blyoo... tee-byah._ " She smiled at him softly, looking up through her eyelashes. "Han."

"Eh. Not too bad," he teased, smiling crookedly.

She kissed him, then smiled against his mouth. "Mm… merci." Kissed him again, a little harder. "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime…"

"Hmm…" he said, stroking her hair and grinning again well she held him tight. "So in Alderaanian, how would you say – _I know_?"

#

 _Reviews are like the ability to understand feel understood despite barriers between you._


	6. Ad Infinitum

_My last installment was very serious… here's something more light and dreamy. A different period from almost everything else thus far… maybe she's been in their home for a year and a half here, so she's almost five. Prompted by a review on that asked if she ever got anything like a doll or puppy. Not quite, but..._

Ad Infinitum

Soft Sunday morning and she was relishing in the rare opportunity to stretch out expansively in their bed, taking his pillows for herself and wrapping the blankets as tight around her as she dared. A rare opportunity to be _comfortable_ , these days… to sort of amble in this place between waking and sleeping, listen to her own breathing and blink sleepily, let her hair fall out of its tight nighttime coils. She didn't like when he was gone but she didn't mind it so much in these moments… so much space to herself, to lie and be languid in.

For so many years she'd felt so divorced from her body, her corporeal form a tool of her mind rather than part of her being. That had changed with Han, not only because of sex but because of how he seemed so content to just throw his arm around her, touch her casually, get in her space; it had changed, too, with Lynnie, how her body had become something like a jungle-gym hideaway, something to climb on and tug and cling to but also something for her daughter to bury herself in. Lynnie pressing her face into her armpit, her breasts, the back of her knees. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she'd never been inside her body because the baby – not baby, as she was insistent on now, _not bébé!_ – seemed so determined to put herself back there.

And too, now more than ever these past few months – feeling her body in ways she never had before, accepting its limitations, letting it be tender, being a little more tender with it. _You wear yourself like Han wears shoes,_ Luke had told her once. _He's got one pair of boots and he just wears them every day and wears them down until they're completely destroyed, and only then does he get another pair. Except you just crash for 72 hours._ Well, not anymore.

Dreamy, sleepy thoughts… maybe she _would_ go back to sleep… what time was it where Han was? Was he up yet, how had the contact gone? Had he been up for a long time? Maybe she would message him… or maybe she would just… go back to dozing…

But oh, there it was – the door creaking open, the little feet. Leia peered at her blearily, rubbing her eyes and asking a question to which she knew the answer. "Lynnie… what time is it?"

Lynnie was looking down and spoke around her thumb. "Seven…"

"Mhm… and at what time is it appropriate to wake up your mother on a Sunday if she isn't up already…"

"Wha's'appropriate?"

"Mm… take your thumb out, honey. "

"Wha's appropriate?"

"It means 'okay' – 'acceptable.' What time did we say was okay, 'loved?"

She sucked her thumb a little harder, shy and apologetic. "... huit…" (The Alderaanian an appeal to her mother's soft side – and one that was working, even though she was normally quite strict about her rules, especially the ones that existed for structure's sake – _kids need structure,_ she'd murmured to Han once, and he'd laughed and said _yeah, or you need structure for your kids_. Kids, at the time, he'd said… how long ago was that? And he'd said _kids_...)

"Hmm, well then this doesn't seem right," Leia murmured, propping herself up on her elbows. "Is there something you need? Mama's trying to sleep."

"Wanted say hi." Her voice all shy and soft. Blushing a little, peering at her from the doorway still, her messy nighttime braids making a fragile crown around her head.

"That's all? Hi, sweetie."

"Wanted say hi my sister."

"Oh... well, that's very sweet." Leia bit her lip and beckoned her over lightly. "You can lie here with me on Daddy's side if you're quiet."

Her face breaking into a big smile. "Otay."

"Okay. Here you go, mm…" She did her best to help Lynnie onto the bed and then laid back down as Lynnie scrambled to be close to her, looking at her through lidded eyes and patting down her hair lightly. "You have to let me sleep, though."

Lynnie snuggled up next to her side contentedly. "Otay Mama, you sleep."

"Good girl."

A few silent moments, and then: "Mama? S'il vous plaît, I can touch?"

A soft sigh. "Mhm, that's fine. Thank you for asking so politely. Hush now."

And then, there, that tiny, warm hand on the side of the still-surprising hill of her stomach, slow and almost reverent, little palm flat against it. Her little mouth close, her eyes wide and thrilled, a hushed whisper escaping: " _Hi_." And as if unable to resist, looking back up to Leia and whispering excitedly, "Is my sister can hear me?"

Leia kept her eyes shut but patted her hair, and mumbled, "Hmm… I'm not sure if she can hear you…"

"... Is she has ears?"

"Good question, smart girl… something like ears, I think. But I don't know if they're big enough for hearing yet… I'll ask…"

"Who you ask?"

"Mm… the doctor, honey…"

"Ask my doctor Lia?"

"No, she has a different doctor, remember? Because she's in Mama's pocket?"

"Oh. Otay. You ask her?"

"I'll ask her. Shh, now, let Mama sleep."

"Otay. Go sleep." Keeping her hand in place, though, and sneaking another quick whisper: " _Hi!_ "

What had she said to Han some five or six months ago? Arms crossed tightly, more irritated than anything else: _this is the opposite of what the point was._ This very very accidental situation she'd very very reluctantly conceded to only after obsessing over Lynnie's confidence and comfort, after trying to imagine what she would've felt had one of her mother's pregnancies held. But if the point was something like their family – something like Sunday morning snoozing – it was beginning to look closer and closer to whatever the point was. Because this definitely felt like the point, the baby pressing her hands to her stomach with so much awe, springing into a talkativeness and confidence they hadn't seen in her before. Announcing to everyone around them, way earlier than they would have liked, _My mama has a baby inside, c'est my sister._ So eager to be helpful and making a fuss of Leia, attempting to fold laundry and trying to comb her hair for her and so alight with purpose and excitement.

 _She likes havin' something to look after,_ Han had observed, chuckling a little.

Leia, who had never liked being made a fuss over and was determined to get through this unexpected pregnancy with as little fanfare and lifestyle change as possible, had scowled. _I don't like that. I'm supposed to look after her._

 _Y'do look after her. She likes protectin' something though. S'like you – wants to help people._

 _We might've considered a new doll,_ she'd said drily. _Or maybe a puppy._

"Mama?"

"Lynnie Jaina…" Her warning voice, although she still smiled through it – the new addition of her middle name made her grin. _Why I don't have a middle name?_ Leia had said easily, _If you want one, you can have one._ And Han, so casual and quick, without hesitation – _you like Jaina?_

Lynnie had nodded so eagerly. (But then again she liked anything he did.) And Leia had given him a look, like _um? Where did this come from? And since when do you speak of your mother?_ All he'd done was shrug, casual, no-big-deal. _Thought it sounded nice._

"Mama, does my sister is gonna talk like you and me or mon da?"

"Hm, that's a good question." Leia propped herself up a little, rubbing her eyes. And it was, actually – she hadn't considered that, if the new baby would become fluent in Alderaanian. "Probably like Daddy."

"Pourquoi?"

"Parce que when you were a baby everyone only spoke to you like us, but when the new baby is here, we'll mostly to her like Daddy does."

"I want her to talk like us too, Mama. 'Cause else it's like a secret and she not in the secret."

"What about your da? That doesn't seem fair…"

"He gonna learn." Lynnie yawned and curled up tight against her. "S'il vous plaît, I can touch again?"

Leia shut her eyes again, lying back down. "Yes, just please be gentle."

The small hand there again, soft and hot. She was very averse to people touching her stomach – she was averse to people making a fuss of her pregnancy in general, especially when she had spent so much time trying to get people to "make a fuss" (make accommodations, remember to include, treat with kindness and respect) of her daughter. Didn't much like it even when Han did; _detested_ it from strangers. Hence why she'd instructed the baby – or, the kid, the new baby was the baby now – to always ask beforehand. But something about the genuine curiosity and surprise of her touch felt okay, felt like the _point_ … like she really wanted to feel what was there rather than demonstrate a kind of possession, like she really was so surprised. "Why my sister not move?"

"Cause she's sleeping, honey, like your mama's trying to do."

"Oh." She pressed a small quick kiss where her hand was then pulled back as if embarrassed, shy.

"Mm… that was nice of you… you love your sister, don't you?"

"J'ai-ime... my sis-ter… " Lynnie sing-songed in a little whisper. "Je veux que tu sors…"

"Oh, but if she came out now, she'd be so small... she couldn't play with you..."

"I was that small?"

"Mmmhm."

"But I not in your pocket." Her voice solemn and understanding. Leia didn't know, still, where the pocket thing had come from – maybe because her hands had been in her coat's front pocket when they had told her, when she'd said the baby's right here? _Like a marsupial,_ she'd said to Han, rolling her eyes, and he'd snorted. _Like you don't think it's cute as hell._

"That's right, not in mine."

"Like Mama."

"Yes, you were adopted like I was, good memory. Mm… come here. Up here, closer, so I can see those very lovely brown eyes." Lynnie scooted up, and Leia shifted onto her side and put an arm around her, their foreheads close, very serious. "Very lovely. Very intelligent, empathetic eyes."

"Wha's m'pathetic?"

"It means you care deeply for other people and are able to understand them, especially when they're struggling. It's a wonderful quality to have. It means you'll be a good daughter and a good friend and help very many people in your life."

"Oh. Merci, Mama."

"You're welcome." She stroked her hair carefully, brushing it out of her eyes and looking at her with concern. "How're you doing, baby?"

Her voice a confessional whisper again. "I miss my daddy."

Leia smiled a little. "Oh, is that all? He'll be back soon. And we can talk to him today, if you like. That's easy."

"Yes please."

"Okay. I can make that happen." She brushed another piece of hair back. "What about otherwise? With… all this? With – ah, with – your sister?" (This way of speaking also not natural to her – she would have only referred to the new baby as just that, the new baby, mostly did actually, and probably would have opted against finding out the gender, but Lynnie was so eager for it to be made _real_ for her and, well, here they were…)

"J'aime my sister."

"I know you do. But we've – your da and I – have been so much more busy, and your daycare is still very new, and I just…" Here she was, confessing her anxieties to a four-year-old – showing her insecurities in the way she'd hoped she never would as a parent to her child. _I don't want her to look after me. I look after her._ Why she'd wanted to have a child in a way that was _purposeful_ , _deliberate_ , _planned_ – so she could give her everything, so she could devote her full energy to looking after her.

 _I worry I'm taking from you,_ she thought, looking at her eyes as they considered Leia's half-formed question. _What if there's a finite amount of attention, and care, and patience I have, and now you're being made to share it? What if there's a finite amount of love I can give and here having given you all of it I must take some of it back for her?_

"J'aime my sister and my mama and my daddy."

So she didn't understand the question, but that was fine, it wasn't really question anyway. "Right," she said kindly, patting her back and sighing heavily. "I know you do, 'loved."

"And mes amis… and my Chewie… and mon oncle Luke Skywalker…" Lynnie continued, prattling them off easily, "and my mama's's mama and her's daddy… and my doctor who is Lia… and my professeur de danse..."

"Well, you must have a big heart, then. Very big."

"Wha's that?"

"It means you're a very kind person. It's a very good thing. Come on now, you've thoroughly woken me up and it's nearing eight anyway. Let's get you dressed and I'll see what your da's up to." And as she helped the baby out of the bed and took the hand Lynnie held out to her, very seriously, as if to help pull her unwieldy form to her feet, she realized that of course the question had been answered. _J'aime my sister and my mama and my daddy and mes amis and my Chewie… and… and…_ All that affection not so much distributed but expanded ad infinitum as her heart made room.

#

 _Reviews are like the warmth of a snuggle on a Sunday morning._


	7. Dance Lesson

_I've been so busy with my move and job training! But I promise I'll get back to updating on a regular basis once everything settles down here. Short and sweet little update here!_

Dance Lesson

"So? How're my girls holdin' up?"

She rolled her eyes slightly, as if to say – _Cute, but becoming the father of a daughter doesn't give you permission to slip into gendered tropes, just as becoming the mother of a daughter didn't make me stop being hyperaware of the politics of sex and power in interpersonal dynamics, which is to say, I'm still you and you're still me._ "We're fine," she said, shifting her grasp on the baby and pursuing her lips at the holo image of her husband. "Nothing urgent – if you're in the middle of something critical…"

"Can always make time – how're you doin' sweetie? You takin' care of your mama for me?"

Lynnie, who was standing on a chair so to be seen and twisting anxiously, her face pressed to Leia's side, shrugged a little before burying her face again in the fold of Leia's dress.

"What! What was that? What're you up to, hidin' in there? Huh?"

But she didn't take the bait, just sort of rubbed her face against Leia's hip and shifted.

"Hey, cutie – what's wrong?" His little blue visage peering at her, frown deepening. "Lei? What's going on here?"

"Ask him what you asked me, honey." Leia's voice, then, quite firm but still kind. She reached down and slowly pried the baby's face from against her. "Lynnie? Demandez-lui ce que te m'avez demandé. For Mama, come on now. Like we discussed."

A long pause, and then, in the tiniest voice in the world, so small and anxious, the baby looking at her feet. "...Daddy?" That teeny-tiny voice, all hushed and worried, how she was glancing up through her eyelashes. She still called him that only rarely, when she was – when she needed him most. Something still foreign, sort of scary, sort of impossible – him, most. Needing him. Her, relying on him. "... do I talk funny?"

This shocking thing, too: how in a second, all of the air could be knocked out of him, because of her. " _What?_ 'Course not, Kriff – who told you that, baby?"

She sort of shifted her weight and pressed her face back to Leia, said nothing.

"Lynnie? Who told you that?"

"Someone at dance," Leia said, her voice lowered, looking at him meaningfully. "One of the other children."

"Ah. Gotcha," he said, setting his jaw.

Lynnie burrowed against her further, and Leia sighed, stroking her hair. "And now she doesn't want to go to class, and she has that R-E-C-I-T-A-L..."

"Yeah, understood – baby? C'you look at me?"

Lynnie shook her head a little, keeping close to Leia, and he felt another pang – she looked – ashamed, like she was ashamed… like she couldn't look at him… how could someone have made her feel ashamed? How could he have let someone––

"Y'can't look at me, sweetie? Come on now…"

After a long pause: "Are s'il vous plaît is a word…?"

"What was that?"

"Mona K say not is a word."

"Mona K says it's not a word," he echoed, nodding slowly, stiffly, the look on Leia's face saying everything, saying _now's the time to model an appropriate response for her – Han, do not get angry._

"Mona K say not is a word and Mona K say I talk funny, Daddy, do I talk funny?"

"You don't talk funny, and it is a word, alright? Just in a different language, you know that. Your Mama says all the same words as you and they're all real pretty, okay?"

"Otay…" she whispered, still not moving far from pressing tightly against Leia.

"Lynnie. Look at me? Hey, c'mere."

"No c'mere. 'Cause you is there," she whispered, her lower lip trembling, wiggling her fingers at the holo projection in demonstration.

He let out a loud sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "Oh, baby…"

Leia looked at him and twitched her mouth sympathetically, holding Lynnie closer. "We just miss you very much, don't we?" she said, giving a sad smile as if to say, _I understand, there's only so much you can do, from there._

Sure enough, he could hear his name being called, but he ignored it. "Listen, kiddo. I promise, you talk – beautiful. Beautifully. Okay? I promise. You gotta ignore people like that – Mona K, whatever. Can't let them keep you from doin' what you love."

"I don' wanna go dance s'il vous plaît. Otay?"

"No, not okay – Lynnie, baby, you can't just give it up––"

"No wanna," she mumbled against Leia's shirt, clearly beginning to disengage – if only he could be there, hold her hand, tickle under her chin, grab her and make her do that overwhelmed high-pitched giggle. He felt so helpless, he felt so…

He squatted slightly, trying to get level with her. "Hey. Hon. Hey. Look at me." He waited, too, until she finally pried herself from Leia to squint at him, anxious and wobbly. "C'you show me some of what you're doing? Huh? At dance? 'Cause I really miss seeing you dance."

She blushed a little, shaking her head.

"C'mon. Please? You don't have to go back to class if you don't wanna. Okay? Just wanna see you dance."

"Daddy no…" she was saying softly, shaking her head again, a small smile _finally_ escaping, all those itty-bitty teeth. "Silly…"

"So what if it's silly? I miss my girl, wanna see her dance, 'cause she's so so good."

"Ne m'en souviens pas…"

"Well, maybe I can help you remember. Okay? C'mon, _please_?"

She flushed again and pressed against Leia. "... a lil otay?"

"Okay, just a little. I'll take it. So. What comes first?"

She nuzzled against Leia a bit, then slowly peeled away and moved her hands to meet above her head, her arms rounded. "First dis."

He nodded seriously, observing. And then, to her complete and utter delight, he put up his arms in the exact same way. "What's next?" he said casually before winking at her.

Her face broke into a wide, shocked, delighted smile, and both hands flew up as if involuntarily to cover her mouth. Leia smiled softly, petting her hair. "Next dis…" She let her arms fall out so they were extended out straight, and when he did the same she practically _shrieked_ , pointing at the holo excitedly.

"Well? What's next?"

"Ummm… next dis!" And she spun around eagerly, and, he couldn't help but think proudly, gracefully, so fluid, so sweet…

He did the same, moving through a full-on twirl and giving a crooked smile, and she literally jumped up and down, squealing – "Da-a-a-addy!"

"Eh, I think I need to do it one more time, just to make sure I got it right… watch my form, alright? Gonna want notes."

He did another twirl, very serious, and she jumped and screamed again, so shocked and thrilled, and he was too busy trying to draw that reaction out of her again and again that he didn't notice––

"Captain – Captain Solo – er, sir, what are you––"

"S'it look like I'm doing?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "M'gettin' notes on my form from the galaxy's top dancer." He gestured, then also nodded at Leia. "And her _crazy_ stage-mom."

Leia rolled her eyes, and gave a kind nod to the recruit's hasty, "Your Highness!"

"We're sorry to monopolize – he'll be with you shortly," she said, grinning a little. "You can see the rest of the routine later, Captain."

"Alright. That sound good, Lynnie?"

She nodded, shy again, pressing her face to Leia's side but smiling. "I go practice?"

"Yes – genius idea. Take after your mama, huh? You _better_ practice. Practice makes perfect, alright?"

"Yes-yes," she agreed, smiling again, still that shocked look on her face, like it was always a pleasant surprise, that she was theirs. It felt like that sometimes to him, too: a perfect, pleasant surprise, each time she was there. And then, in a super quick, shy rush, blurting out: "Buh-bye-Daddy-I-love-you."

Leia raised her eyebrows a little, her smile small but sweet. "Same here."

"Bye you guys," he said, giving a mock salute, trying to hide his little smile. "Love you too."

#

 _Don't worry – Orbit will start updating regularly now too!_


	8. Rest

#59 - You own my heart, asked by otterandterrier.

Rest

Now, on late nights, when he takes a turn tending to the new baby, walking in slow circles around their whole place because like her mother she can't rest easy unless she knows she's headed somewhere, he finds himself thinking back, way back, well what feels like way back and actually was breathtakingly recent. Thinking as he walks around this room, of pacing back then, raking his hands through his hair, waiting for Leia and this girl, their daughter, the girl who would be their daughter. (Well, their first daughter – because waiting for their second had been something else altogether.) It was _killing_ him, Leia not letting him take her there on the Falcon, but the girl – Lynnie, calling her "the girl" felt not right, he'd have to stop that – hadn't flown before, and Leia thought commercial might be less intimidating, more like a ride on a speeder than zipping through hyper, and also she was used to Leia and when they both came it sometimes proved overwhelming.

Overwhelming. Like he wasn't overwhelmed. Kissing Leia goodbye late yesterday and knowing she would come back with a _child,_ their _child_ – the child who would live inside their _home_ – he was overwhelmed. Thinking of Leia flying commercial, seat next to her empty, baby snuggled up on her lap. Whispering in her ear about taking off, about the stars, about home, in the soft voice she used lately, at night, when they were spent, saying to him _and you're going to love her, and she already loves you, and I can just see it, how you'll be perfect and lovely and kind_. Pointing out each constellation to the girl who'd never flew, Leia the mother, knowing all the right words.

Pacing, waiting for the door to move, what would he say, what the hell came next – and then, suddenly, in a clamor of noise, _it did_ , and there they were.

There they were – Leia chattering brightly in her native tongue, pushing open the door with her hip, somehow rolling two suitcases while also holding the impossibly tiny hand of the impossibly tiny girl he remembered, who stepped inside and clung to Leia's leg like a magnet and looked up at him, and looked, and looked.

He automatically stepped closer to take the bags and then she was pointing at him and whispering something he couldn't understand to Leia, who smiled and petted her hair and said something he couldn't understand, and the girl was nodding a little and staring at him, removing one hand from clutching Leia's leg to stick her thumb in her mouth. Leia said something else, then his name, and then surprised him by kissing him suddenly, smiling against his lips before dipping down to engage Lynnie, explaining, "Je l'aime, je l'aime beaucoup."

Lynnie nodded, reaching out to touch Leia's braids briefly and then blushing. Whispering after a moment, "Marié?"

"Mmhm, oui. Marié. Married. Remember?"

He remembered shifting awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I can – d'you want me to bring through the bags – she hungry or anything?"

And Leia, looking up from her spot on the floor and smiling brilliantly at him. "You can ask her, you know. I'll translate for you."

Frowning a little but bending and looking at her, his voice going to some soft and gentle place he didn't know existed within him, the vocal equivalent of a tip-toe. "You – are ya hungry? C'I get you something?"

And how sweet Leia's voice sounded, the delicate, swirling language tumbling from between her lips, smoothing over the baby's hair as she presumably translated.

"Non, merci," Lynnie said to Leia, her voice sort of hushed, and Leia tapped the baby's nose and indicated him and then she was looking up at him, her little teeth visible from the way they came down on her lip, somehow, improbably, just like Leia. Her little voice even _sounding_ like Leia, just a bit, husky but girlish, as she looked right at him and said again as if making an offering, "Non, merci."

"Peux-tu dire _no thank you_ , 'loved?"

"Non tank you," she said after a pause, still looking at him as if trying to place him – her forehead rippled like Leia's did when up against a particularly challenging bit of political maneuvering.

"You remember me?" he teased gently, and Leia murmured a translation beside her, her voice still in those dulcet mommy tones he'd never quite get used to.

And the baby frowned and whispered, "... je cwois…" _I think so._ Giving him a look like her not-too-great toddler memory was presenting him as some ghost from another life, a piece of her personal history that felt right and familiar but for which there was no linearity, no fact.

Sometimes, now, he wonders if there is another kind of inheritance that exists, outside of biology, the kind that made her come into their home already having Leia's mannerisms and had folks who didn't know them note sweetly that Lynnie looked like him, had his eyes. If it was the type of magic that works twice, would bless this second one too, with a love of service and deep-rooted loyalty and the Alderaanian accent that had re-entered Leia's vocabulary this past year and a fascination with the stars and the sky. If it could pass through the cord he'd cut or if it was limited to some sort of faerie-foundlings, the kind that crawled into your lap rather than passing through a lover's body, originating there and taking root, nothing into something. What the baby – not the baby, this was the baby – what the first one, then, had been so fascinated by, always up in Leia's space to pat or ask questions or whisper or press kisses, asking as though she thought she might be being tricked, _a baby, there?_ Wanting to know, _she know who is me when come out?_ Will she love her automatically, Lynnie loved her sister automatically, and he loved the new baby automatically, at first sight, had bitten down hard on his knuckle to keep from gasping, and Leia loved Lynnie once she saw that she'd made a home of Han.

He didn't know when he knew he loved Lynnie but it wasn't the first time he looked at her, not like the new baby – and that felt wrong, somehow, something Leia had brought up, how it felt sort of wrong to love their second from the very first moment, like it was unfair to Lynnie, an uneven distribution of parental affection they could never make up, could never go back and love her since she was born – but maybe it had always been there, even before? How Lynnie asked, _how she know get big now?,_ a question they eventually understood to be based on the assumption that a baby had always been inside her mother but was waiting for its cue to take root and take shape and kick against her sister's hands and make her squeal. Like his love for Leia, or even kind of like how she talked about her relationship to her brother: somehow he knew it had always been there. A love for Lynnie like a cosmic calamity he'd been carrying around, waiting for the right signal to grow inside him. The lack of sleep was making him delirious, sentimental.

The new baby likes to move so he holds her close and heads towards Lynnie's bedroom, which is starting its process of becoming Lynnie _et Ana's,_ as the very elaborately glittered flimsi now taped to the door announces. Carefully, he opens the door, then leans against the doorframe. There she is now, curled up small, the guardrail never necessary since she sleeps sweet and still but making her feel more secure nonetheless. Her hair in the nighttime braids Leia had done while nursing the baby, the lot of them in their bed, Lynnie and Leia in those white nightgowns and the baby wrapped in a white blanket, three girls like a single set, girls that were his, his stomach had been doing this surreal thing recently of sort of dropping deeper with the weight of affection just when he thought it was deep as it could go, wouldn't he reach a point at which he stopped finding new reasons to love Leia, wasn't this getting a bit ridiculous? They were both sleep-deprived, and they were getting ridiculous, today Leia had called him Hana and Lynnie her mother's name. But there'd been a time when saying her mother's name unexpectedly would have sent her into a state and now she just laughed, and that was love and also growing, love was a kind of growing, things didn't grow if they weren't loved.

 _How she know get big now? Because she heard her sister saying je t'aime soooo much that she said that's it, that's that, I've got to meet her as soon as possible and tell her I feel just the same way. And that's how gwow? And that's how she knew to grow, mhm._

Something, maybe, about being awake beside another person who was sleeping. Here, now, watching Lynnie sleep, holding the new baby and hoping she'd tilt into sleep, there was something like love in that. Lynnie'd met the new baby for the first time when she was sleeping, and when Leia was out too, actually, had hovered over the baby and though he was ready to warn her not to mess with her had only looked and looked. He'd said, _well, whatdaya think? Still love her now that she's on the outside?_ mostly meaning to tease. But she'd whispered, all hushed and totally serious, _Yes._

Back to that first day, then: she hadn't wanted anything to eat but she had yawned during Leia's sweet little hushed-voice tour, and all of the sudden she was going to take a nap, and Leia was slipping into her bedroom with her, promising, from what he could tell, to sit beside her while she slept. And from what he could tell she had, lying next to her on the bed until she drifted off, stroking her hair, kissing her nose. Waiting until she was certain the baby was out before tiptoeing out – only to be sitting with him on the couch, two minutes later, when they heard the anxious cry from her room – _Maaaaa-aaaaa-aaaa-maaa…_

And what had she been busy with? Work, some work thing, something she hadn't been able to wrap up before her leave started, something that had to be finished _right then_ , because suddenly she was rushing into Lynnie's room, negotiating something, and then hurrying back out to him. "Can you just lie there with her?" she asked him, biting her lip like the baby, who did it like her… "I need to just get these signatures out right now – she just doesn't want to be left alone."

"Dunno how we'll do without our translator…"

"She'll be out in minutes, she just likes the company, you know. She's a kid, she's nervous about being in a new place."

"Yeah," he said, "I know."

He remembered knocking on the door and feeling a little ridiculous for doing so, but not wanting to spook her; taking the Alderaanian he didn't understand as a _come in._ She was under the covers, her eyes wide, but they seemed to soften when she saw him. Her thumb in her mouth. Looking at him.

He remembered feeling weird about getting into bed with her, about crowding her, so instead he made a big show of stretching out on the fluffy blue rug beside her bed, resting his hands behind his bed and miming at going to sleep. Stayed there for moments that felt like years, listening to her breath grow slow and steady with thinly-concealed anxiety. Thought _you own my heart, you've got my heart in your hands_ – _let me make you feel safe._ Peered at her just slightly and found her fast asleep, thumb in her mouth, blankets pulled up to her chin, face smushed against the guardrail. Trying to get closer. Affection being something like being awake while someone else was sleeping. He stretched out his legs on the rug and made himself comfortable.

The rug is sort of faded now, glitter and crumbs clinging to its floofy surface – it's due for replacement, not durable enough for a creative, curious kid. Yesterday before the table had been set up it's where Leia had laid out an old stained towel and changed the new baby, Lynnie peering over her shoulder and whispering in Alderaanian. The towel from the Falcon that might've been the one Leia wrapped her hair in when she'd showered between the Death Star and Yavin, the rug he'd napped on and felt something inside him like whatever came before love for this kid he barely knew. He remembered looking at the towel once she discarded it, teasing her about how could hair _possibly_ hold so much water in it, and feeling something in his stomach when she'd said something about it being longer than he'd ever know, something about wanting to know her more, something like whatever came before love. Cosmic something. Three girls of a single set. Leia's kid before she knew Leia, adoring a sister before she was born. Things take love to know to grow. A life can unfurl in every possible damn direction and it still manages to follow the right one. The new baby is sleeping, now, warm and safe in his arms. Maybe she's wary of this new place, but something about them – about him, and Leia, and Lynnie too – set her at ease enough to look so sweet and trusting. Maybe he should get some rest, too.

#

Reviews are like wondering how you ever got so lucky, then figuring maybe it's best not to ask and just be thankful.


	9. The Best Friend

_Prompted by #55 "You are my best friend in the whole world, okay?" on Tumblr._

The Best Friend

Lynnie first hears it, the term, the phrase, in a bedtime story with her uncle. It's a book, not an original improvised tale like what her da does, but it has pictures that are very lovely to look at and even to touch – her uncle lets her touch everything, no matter how pretty or special, except the silver tube on his belt – but it's also in Basic, which is harder, though the pictures make it easier for her to fill in the gaps left by language.

One such gap: this word, clumped up from some she knows, making her brow furrow. Lynnie wants to know: "What that is?"

"Hmm?"

"That. What that is. Bessfwien."

"Best friend?"

"Yes, sih-plait what is."

"Oh, a best friend is – exactly what it sounds like, really. Like of all-all-all your friends, the one who's your _closest_ friend. Who you would tell anything to, do anything for – who knows all your secrets and dreams and all that."

"Bessfwien?"

"Yeah, so like – of all your amis here, which one is your favorite?"

"No favorite," she insists, and she grabs all of her friends – raggedy, grey, smelling so safe – and hugs them all tightly, possessively. "Fwiends all is – circle." Something new she's learned this week, finally clicked – pointing and touching and petting shapes, kissing her rug and whispering "rectangle, otay?" like a prayer. Delighting in her belly button because it is a circle, all round and whole, which is sort of what her friends feeling like her friends is like.

"Your friends are a circle?" her uncle repeats back, amused, eyes shining and bright like they get when she knows she's said something that makes him feel like he's a kid like her again, too.

"Yes," she whispers, blushing and suddenly shy, pressing her face back to her friends. She loves them all so much, it is impossible to imagine preferring one to any other. But also, there's something appealing and warm, almost safe, about this word, the accompanying picture of a purple alien who is holding the hand of the alien who is sunshine yellow as they splash in a big puddle. Making the puddle almost look warm, even though she knows, now, how rain, despite sounding so beautiful, can feel cold and trickly on your skin. Maybe a best friend is her yellow rainboots with all the blue dots. Could that be it?

She wants to know: who has a best friend, and where did they get one? She asks her uncle and he says her parents, which makes sense, they're the best _anything_ she can imagine – except then Luke spends ages trying to pick one or the other and though he eventually settles on her mam, for now, Lynnie is certain she could never, ever choose. She asks her da, who answers Chewie fast and easy; then she asks her mam, who pauses thoughtfully for a long while before saying in her serious way that she supposes it would be her father. Something safe and secure, too, about the predictability of their responses – her father with an open, easy smile, confident about everything, her mother's slow, methodical explanations – Lynnie knows, by now, what they will give her when she asks. She even asks Artoo, pressing both palms to the droid's cold surface and whispering her question, but she can't really understand his response.

Her da wants to know: is there any reason she's asking about this now, baby?

She shrugs her shoulders elaborately, causing him to grin a bit. "I who mine is?" she confesses, trying not to make a big deal of it, like she hadn't felt so badly that she needed to know.

"That all?" he asks, frowning a little. "I'll be your best friend, lady," he promises, pulling her into his lap and tickling her and kissing her hair, everything that makes him her da – making her feel small in a good way, warm and safe. "Hmm? How about that?"

But she can't stop thinking about that picture and puddles, how yes her da would splash with her but also he was the person who'd make her dry after, how that felt – different, somehow.

And also: "Daddy, tu is too _tall_ be my bessfwien."

Her mam isn't quite so tall as her da, which seems like it would make her a better candidate, except seeing her mama as her best friend is even harder for her to conceptualize if only because her mama still seems so _otherworldly_ , so too-good-to-be-true, so much something in a faerie story. Lynnie doesn't remember much about Before but what she does remember is dreaming about a mother, her mother, who would be a gorgeous, loving vision in white and her mother is, in fact, a gorgeous, loving vision, although she wears a lot of different colors other than just white. There's something dreamlike about her though that Lynnie can't shake, something awe-inspiring and scary and so, so good. If her da has been her first friend, the person she wants in every fort she ever constructs for the rest of her life, to play every game she ever plays, her mam is the unknowable force – gravity and weight and whatever makes a blanket cling to a chair – that holds the fort together, that makes balls make beautiful arcs as they sail into hoops. The rain that fills the puddle.

Her mam doesn't follow-up in the same way, just sort of nods contemplatively and redirects Lynnie to her day at daycare – what did she learn? What did she play? What was difficult and how did she face it, what can they do different next time, did she try to talk to someone new like they talked about? She can't follow all of the questions but their predictability is a soothing relief from the difficulty of the best-friend pursuit, and Lynnie lets the loving, inquisitive words wash over her the way she likes to hold milk in her mouth, sometimes, just to feel all the sweet soft sitting there in the tiny cracks between her teeth. Hers. Sometimes Lynnie forgets to answer any of them at all – she gets too caught up in how nice it makes her feel, to be asked, that she loses track of the questions, but her mam is patient and doesn't mind if she has to ask again.

Endlessly patient, actually – Lynnie knows this deeply even if sometimes she's certain that it won't be true again, can never quite convince herself of any kind of infinity. One thing her mam does that still shocks her is let her hug her and hold her as long as she needs in the morning, when she drops her off at daycare. Sometimes this is a long time – there are days when for whatever reason she just feels a kind of shyness inside her that means she needs to be held a little longer, which her mama always accepts without question. Once she hugged her mam for what felt like forever, long past when all the other parents had gone, until one of the ladies who looks after all the kids tapped them and asked, all tight and stern, "What seems to be the problem here?" and her mam had said, voice all cool ease, "There isn't one," and stayed there, crouched and squeezing and rocking lightly, stroking Lynnie's braids with fluid, soothing movements, without hesitation. Sometimes she tries to explain to Lynnie that affection like that is like the food in the fridge: it will never, ever run out. But just like it makes her feel better to check the food in the fridge sometimes, just to make sure, so too does it feel right to hug her mama very very tight when she's going to go away. Just to be safe. It seems like her mother who is like the rain gets that without needing to be told, which is good because Lynnie doesn't think she could put the thought into words, if she had to, why security feels so suspect.

Endlessly patient also when Lynnie brings the subject back up a few days later, her mam continuing the conversation as if it had never lapsed. Lynnie wants to know: "Bessfwien can be not here or…?"

"Mmhmm," Leia says, frowning slightly and handing Lynnie her purple plastic sippie – not to drink from, but to dry, because the promise of the new baby has made Lynnie a little fanatical about wanting to Help as much as she can except sometimes her hands get slippery so she's not so good with things that can break.

(And the dripping water has left a few tiny bubbles and Lynnie wants to kiss them because they're so pretty, but then would they go away? But so will the towel – the towel will make them go away, so maybe a little kiss. That would be okay. She does so.)

"Why do you ask?" Leia asks, catching Lynnie's gaze and tilting her chin up to meet her eyes.

Lynnie gives a big exaggerated shrug.

"Are you missing a friend from Before?" Leia asks with concern, reaching out to smooth down some of Lynnie's wispy locks that have escaped from her braids. "It's okay if you are, you know. That's very normal – I wouldn't be hurt or anything."

Lynnie flicks her eyes away, thinking. _Is_ she missing a friend from Before? She doesn't remember much about it – sometimes she thinks Before was maybe a dream she had while she was in her mama's pocket like where the new baby is, even though both her mam and da have told her more than once that that isn't true. She remembers beds, lots of beds, and that's really it – big rooms with lots of beds and, presumably, kids in them. Ladies who looked after them walking up and down the rows, checking the beds like she does, now, when she wakes up in the middle of the night and checks on her mama and daddy just to make sure they didn't go anywhere, or checks on her snacks in the box her daddy made her. She remembers her da being there, a little bit, crawling into his lap, and having to get cleaned up by standing up and water falling on her head and over her tummy and toes instead of sitting down in the bath and playing the way she does now. And now when she wants to get the shampoo out of her hair her mama or daddy just knows when and does it for her, instead of having to ask for someone to come over and inspect her hair for soaps, or bugs. She remembers also something about hair and looking for bugs? And now she has nightmares every so often of beds or bugs or both… of big itches but she doesn't remember a best friend… she wouldn't forget something like that, would she?

"You know," her mam is saying, trying to crouch as best as she can and touching Lynnie's cheek, "I had a best friend back at where I was from before. I do miss her, very often." She bites her lip, then, sighing in that sad sort of way she's been prone to recently, and tucks a lock of Lynnie's hair behind her ear. "She would've been something like an aunt to you…"

Lynnie resists the urge to press her palms to either side of her mother's face, which is an easier, language-less way of saying _I love you_. She's been looking like that more and more, recently – not sad, per se, but also not perfectly composed and patient the way Lynnie was more used to. Contemplative. Like she's showing a bit more of her not-so-much-a-vision-but-possibly-a-person-self than usual. Something about the new baby who would be her sister – not making her mean or sad or anything but making her feel… different.

Like the other day, when they'd all been sitting on the couch together. Her dad was on one side and her mam was the middle, and Lynnie was lying curled up on her side beside her with her cheek sort of pressed against her belly, which she liked because when the baby kicked it was almost like she could hear it, speaking the language of being underwater, of the inside of a puddle or a pocket. Her mam had always been endlessly patient with affection – Lynnie knew that other mothers were not that way, had seen other kids' parents pry them off of their leg after far less time, scold them after far fewer goodbye or good morning kisses – but with her belly it was a little different, she could get touchy, did not like stripes to be counted and always was reminding her to _ask first_. Which was new, but not bad. Never bad.

*Especially because one of the new things was also her mam crawling into _her_ bed some nights, instead of vice versa, and hugging her very close, which was just about the best surprise in the world, to wake up being held by her mother. If she could, she would hold her mother all the time. She would make all of her amis hold hands in a circle around her mother's waist so they were always hugging the new baby. But this is very difficult to do.)

But: her hair had been poofing up (Lynnie's hair, not her mam's, her mam's hair was perfect), so her da reached out to tickle her chin and smooth it, and then after reaching across her mam's belly he let his hand rest there, which led to her mam rolling her eyes and da doing his mischievous grin and making a big show of rubbing her belly quite a bit. And then her mam was pushing his hands back into his lap, laughing, so then Lynnie did what her da had been doing and then her mam pushed _her_ hands back into _her_ lap, which gave her _da_ a chance to move _his_ hands, and so on… and Lynnie was laughing, too, giggling like crazy at the silliness of everything trying to love her mam the most, until suddenly her mam was glaring at her da, pushing his hands back to his lap too harsh and snapping, " _Han, enough_." Enough is hard for Lynnie to understand, because: how will she know when she's reached it, and what if she's still hungry afterwards?

"Lynnie? Did you hear me?"

Lynnie definitely did _not_ hear her, but she nods anyway, trying to give a smile with all of her teeth. She goes to touch, then stops herself and asks, "I can touch sih-plait?"

"Yes," Leia says, sighing but smiling, "And thank you for asking so nicely."

How to explain: that by not here she didn't mean far away, she meant not _here_ … it was all so confusing. Too confusing, and it gave her a headache, made her sleepy…

Sleepy enough that she took too long a nap and was up in the middle of the night, suddenly, abruptly Not Tired. Lynnie crawls out of bed and goes to check her parents' room out of habit – only to realize, to her horror, that her mother is not there.

"Ma-a-a-ma?" she finds herself crying out, panic creeping into her features. It's like all the blood in her body has turned to ice: suddenly she's cold, so cold. " _Mama?!"_

She can hear her da begin to stir, and then her mam's clear yet soft voice, coming from the 'fresher: "Sh-sh-sh, in here, 'loved, I'm in here." Sweet, desperate relief.

In the 'fresher, her mama is mostly naked, sitting awkwardly under the spray of the shower and rubbing her belly and humming the bedtime song she sometimes sings, when Lynnie begs her, about a rabbit coming home to sleep. "See, it's okay.," her mam says, "See, I'm right in here."

Lynnie, still shaken, wants to know: "Why is wet?" she asks seriously, and the sound her mam makes, a real genuine, bright, exhausted laugh is like nothing she's heard before.

"Oh, your sister doesn't want to sleep and I suppose I'm trying to coax her into relaxing. And then I remembered how you enjoy the sound of rain..."

This is true, Lynnie realizes with a start – she does enjoy the sound of rain. Even the sound of the shower is threatening to lull her back into sleepiness, which she was longing for moments ago but now she's desperate to stave off.

"Is no sleep?"

"Mhm, just turning flips and cartwheels."

"Oh."

Maybe it's written all over her face, but her mam seems to know exactly what she's thinking and says, smiling that faint, tired smile, "Would you like to come sit with me and keep me company until we're all sleepy again?"

Before she's finished speaking, Lynnie is curled up beside her under the warm spray, letting the water soak through her nightgown. "I can touch sih-plait?"

"Sure," her mam says, eyes shut and humming again, already seeming to be back in her own little world.

Lynnie lets herself touch, really touch, because she seems calm and distracted enough – resting her cheek on the hill of her mother's belly and pressing a palm there beside it. "Go sleep sih-plait. Go go please please, please being nice to my Mama…" She can feel the baby's kick against her chin and jerks up, eager and thrilled. "Mama!"

"Mm, but we're trying to get her to _sleep,_ Lyn – think calm thoughts her way, alright…?"

Lynnie tries to think calm thoughts but instead she's thinking of the puddle, the book, the rain, her da like a towel warming her up, her mam like the water drawing her out, and suddenly everything is very, very clear. "Mama," she says seriously, "no sleep par-que my sister is go play."

"Mm – go play...?"

"Is wanna play avec moi. 'Cause rain. Go play."

"She wants to play with you in the rain?"

" _Yes_ ," Lynnie says, very serious, certain that this is very important to know.

"She knows you're very fun and wants to play with you, is that what you think?"

"In rain. Je know."

"Oh, you know."

"Oui." Touching her chin back to her mother's belly, then: "I know otay?" She can feel her mother's hands tracing her soaking hair languidly, and for a rare moment in her brief life she feels very, very certain. "And we go play when here not there and go puddles and go jump? Otay?" The book, her mother, her father, the rain. Looking at her mother's belly is like looking at a puddle is like looking at a a raindrop or a circle: round and whole. "Tu mon bessfwien whole world otay? And I let you is wear my boots and hold hand like _this_ and we go _jump_ and, and…"

#

 _Reviews are like sudden updates after brief hiatuses!_


	10. Hand-Me-Downs

_Just a little something._

Hand-Me-Downs

By the time Lynnie comes along, finds her way to them, they're no strangers to repurposed things. In fact they're accustomed to it – military life and royal life and smuggler life had that in common, actually, so it's a near-habit that their belongings are both worn and unsentimental, all these years later. Even now Han has to remind her that it's alright to buy new things, yeah? And the only thing that keeps Leia from doing the same is that now that she's explained what bleach is his shirts aren't nearly so nasty.

But he's used to having nothing and she's used to losing everything – they only know how to dress functional, how to make do. And even before that – Leia never dressed herself, always wore what was traditional, and in turn unflattering, because everything traditional was designed for princesses of ages past, hardier and darker and taller, so she was always dressed in little girl clothes even when she was at least a tween, which she hated – didn't know her favorite color because she just knew wearing white – didn't think of her clothes as her own because they were really loaners anyway. Her best friend Amilyn always sporting some badazzled glittery shift of so many colors, whenever they saw each other as young women – _Ami, you make me feel like I'm wearing a curtain_ because she very often nearly was – expensive white curtains, too big, making her look like a ghost.And then in the war, losing everything with every evac, taking in the smallest men's things, making it work. Alienated from her appearance so much so that when it comes time to pick out her wedding dress she doesn't know what she wants at all and just picks the cheapest, simplest, least revealing thing after having a teeny-tiny panic attack in the shop. Long slim column of dark green faux-velvet, ankles to wrists, black lace veil, practical, very warm. Serious, severe.

But Leia thinks what if Lynnie isn't the type of girl who wants to be practical. Part of her wants to indulge her as much as possible, the way she would want to buy Han everything if she were still wealthy – smother her in everything she never had, every frilly thing, the loveliest dresses, all princess pinafores, like a fantasy. Going from having nothing to something. On the other hand, though, she knows that being taken into their home would be a life of possibility, not pampering – a life where she had options, where she could do anything, be anything. Which is how she found herself lost and wandering and overwhelmed, walking awkwardly around a children's clothing store, trying to figure out what clothes were sturdiest, the most movable, the best for playing, the brightest colors, because when Leia was a kid she'd always wished she could wear the brightest colors. The first time in this whole time that she'd felt overwhelmed – all those options.

Lynnie too – at first, Leia assures her that she can wear anything she wants, whatever she wants, even if it clashes – again, things she would've wanted as a child. But no – Lynnie's overwhelmed by options too. Clung to Leia's leg and shook her head when Leia said _you pick,_ saying back _tu pick tu pick_ and insistently nuzzling Leia's knee with her cheek. Her only preference – _j'aime bien ta robe Maaaama_ – being for the dresses that Leia wore whose skirts she could hide beneath.

Lynnie not wanting to pick her clothes out like her mother trying to choose a wedding dress. Something that should be happy made paralyzingly difficult. They had that in common, then. All three of them really. They were recovering, coming back from some other place where they had to go into a kind of low-power mode, conserving all energy, getting by on rations of being alive. And then trying to learn how to let themselves be full people again.

But oh, that's another question – one that comes up immediately, the first night she's home. Learning how to move on means – moving on, means – as she delicately helped Lynnie undress for the first time, she held up her durable starched uniform – grey dress, white apron – and thought – _huh_. She had to wrangle a little, to make bath-time work – Lynnie was used to standing up while bathing, apparently that's how it had been, all the little girls lined up with cups of water poured over their hair by a nurse walking back and forth – _et teniw les mains et non pweure mais pweure un petit mama mama –_ but that was cold and unsustainable, so for the first few weeks every time she drew a bath she sat in it too, stripped with the baby in her lap, frowning at her contemplatively – _how do I help you? How do I make you feel okay?_

A problem, but not the problem. _The_ problem was what she had in her hand, when she finally managed to get the baby to sleep and joined Han at the dark kitchen table. The little dress, the little uniform, scratchy and overwashed and overmended. "What do we do with this?" Leia asked seriously.

"Whadaya mean?" Han asked, yawning – the little dress was probably the least stressful thing he could think of.

"I mean, do we keep it? Do I wash it and put it back with the rest of her things?" She ran her fingers along the worn out edges, frowning. "She doesn't need it anymore." Frowning further, confessing, "I think I'd be heartbroken if I saw her wear it again. Though I suppose it must be what she'll find most familiar..."

"Huh," Han said, taking the little dress.

"But I don't want to just – throw it away… I want her to have a history. Did you––?"

"Nothing. Never even saw a holo. Not sure I ever even was a baby," he added, giving her a melancholic half-grin.

"My mother saved all of my baby things. They're lost now, but I remember looking at all of them…"

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Surprised that I had been so small, skeptical that I'd ever want a child of my own. She kept this blanket..."

"Blanket?"

"The one they brought me to her in, from my birth mother. I used to – it's silly. I used to smell it, though, and try to remember the somewhere else I came from."

"So… keep it?"

"But where I came from was a mystery – I don't want to build a monument to something sad…"

"Tough things have happened, though. Don't have an option to forget."

"She does – she's a child––"

"Don't want to, though. I mean it – s'how I met you, how she came to you, right?" Brushing her hair back behind her ears, still a little damp from her improvised bath. "You should keep it, sweetheart."

The box, then, of sentimental things – the velvet wedding dress and the scrap of fabric that was the hood from her dress from Alderaan and Han's old Alliance metal, few things they kept with them. With the little dress and the pinafore. Tactile story book that she's been wanting to look at more and more, recently, because as her mam's explained soon they'll have to add the little outfit the new baby'll get from the hospital. Some hat and blanket Leia can't control, which feels more comfortable, more secure, not having to make those choices. One month left and they still haven't a stitch of baby clothes – maternity things mostly borrowed anyway, _what's the point in buying things I'll never wear again, I'm not kidding around Han, after this I'm getting fixed._

So part of it's like family tradition, then – the baby'll wear what it gets when it comes out, a wardrobe assembled from every survivor of this war they know who's had a baby, hodge-podge things. Leia remembers the paralysis of the dress shop and the children's store and even now Lynnie still doesn't like making choices.

If Lynnie didn't stop and tug and point at the storefront with all the tiny baby things as they walked home from daycare, she probably wouldn't have noticed it. And even then, inside Leia feels something like panic – too many things, too many factors, too many options, too little time. How did she go from responsible for the lives of soldiers to the lives of children, and how did it happen so quickly, and how could anyone expect her to choose this onesie over that one, what makes them different, that old panic rising again, she's trying to very subtly sink to sitting on a bench far off in the corner of the shop–––

There's the baby, then – not the baby, the big girl – commanding the attention of a shopkeeper, pointing at wares up high. _Dis one et my sister is like dis one because is stars's et is like stars's et socks pah-que feet small-small-small et dat pah-que j'aime blue and j'aime my sister and––_

Turning back to Leia, grinning brilliantly, grown up and taking care. Family is something like telling the same story again and again, Leia knows this very well – the blanket, the hooded dress, the velvet, the smock. But always with the glimmering possibility of another kind of ending.


	11. (Counting to) Two

_Apologies for the delay. Here's 4500 words to make up for it!_

Two

She'd been snuggled in his lap for a little while, playing with a thread on her nightgown as he did his best to comb through her damp hair and arrange it into something like the nighttime braids Leia usually kept it in, when she said it, voice all soft and anxious, "… My mama has a mad at me…"

"What're you talkin' about, cutie?" he said, frowning as he tried to work through a particularly rough tangle.

"My mama has a mad at me…" she confessed again, burrowing tighter against him.

"She's not mad at you, no way. What makes you say that?"

"'Cause she not my hair… go sleep… my mama no do story…"

"Nah, she's just tired, baby," he assured her.

"Yes'day aussi. An' yes'day's yes'day."

"Yesterday too, huh? Well, you know she's been workin' real hard…"

Lynnie seemed to consider that, frowning a little, then shook her head. "No uppies," she whispered, twirling the string more insistently, shifting on his lap.

"Hmm?"

"…no go up… my mama…"

He nodded slowly. "Your mama's not picking you up?"

"Wanna go up my mama. Par'que je l'aime…"

"Yeah, I know, I love her too."

"Why she has mad?"

"Nah, she ain't mad, I promise – seriously, she isn't, don't worry…"

He stroked her hair, frowning, and tried to tickle her lightly into a smile, but he could tell she wasn't joking – she stayed nuzzled up against him, looking down, her lower lip trembling. "Je veux my mama…"

"She's just sleepy, I promise… hey…"

"Je veux… my _m-m-mama_ …"

"Hey! Hey, don't get upset, don't get upset… she's not mad at you, I promise… hey…"

"My _m-m-mama_ …" She wasn't full-on crying, but there were definitely tears, trembling a little – but when he went to hug her she wrestled away, her face red and anxious: "My _mama_ , veux my _mama_!"

"Hey! Little hurtful, sweetie – hey-hey, Lynnie, lookit me. Hey. Hey." He held her hands and gave her a genuine smile. "Hey. She's not mad, I promise. I swear."

She blinked through more tears, peering at him and holding tight onto his thumbs. "Veux…"

"Listen. I know she's been a little grumpier and a little more tired… but I promise, she's not mad at you, okay?"

Hiccuping and whimpering: "Has _mad_ – veux my – _mad_ …"

"Hey-hey-hey. Don't – hey, no, don't be sad." He reached out to brush away some of the tears and tickled under her chin, suddenly desperate to see her smile – he couldn't let her think Leia was mad, right, he couldn't – but she swatted his hand away. "Listen. C'I tell you a lil secret? Gotta promise not to tell anyone."

"Secwet?" she whispered, a little intrigued, her hiccups fading a bit.

"She's not mad. Alright? She's just tired 'cause––" Surely Leia would understand, right? They were keeping this to themselves to avoid hurting her if, as Leia put it, _something went sour_ – and if now this was hurting her – well, surely she'd never want her to hurt… right? He smoothed Lynnie's raggedy braids and smiled at her gently, for once the one a little shy. Thinking _please, please let this be okay…_ _please be happy, please let this make you happy like it's done to me._ He took a breath and smiled again nervously. "She's just tired 'cause she's gonna have a baby soon, baby. Okay?"

For a moment everything was still, other than the sound of her hiccups. And then that voice, very soft and a little suspicious: "Baby?"

"Mhm. S'growin' in her belly so it takes a lot of energy, s'why she can't lift you up and all. So she's not mad, see? She's not mad at you."

Lynnie's voice was very skeptical now. " _Belly_?" she demanded suspiciously.

He laughed a little, returning to her hair, pleased that at least the tears had been averted for now. "Yeah, sort of crazy, right? But it'll be a baby – a brother or sister, for you to play with. You'll like that, wontcha?"

She peered at him a little anxiously, weighing the scenario with seriousness. "Maybe… – my Mama?"

"Your Mama, yep. And you will, I promise. It'll be weird at first but… well, s'not for a while now anyway. So you've got a lotta time to get used to the idea – we all do."

"Used to?"

"Used to a new baby. Or, the idea of a new baby – and then an actual baby, I guess… listen, you can't tell your mam I told you, alright? Our secret?"

" _My_ Mama baby?"

"Your Mama, uh-huh."

"My Mama baby is belly."

"In her belly, yeah – well sort of, I guess, if ya wanna get technical it's like in her – s'like a pocket, sort of – that girls – women – well, anyway. It's complicated. When you're older."

" _Pocket."_

"Sure, let's call it that – s'gonna be our secret though, okay? When your Mama tells you you gotta act real surprised. Alright? 'Cause I told ya a little early, 'cause you're just so damn cute and persuasive… Okay?"

"Otay Daddy," she said, smiling shyly at him.

"Okay, so let's practice. Pretend I'm your mam, alright?"

"No-o, tu _silly_ ––"

"I know, I know, she's gorgeous an' has all that pretty hair, it's a little far-fetched, just go with it. And I – your mam, imagine me as pretty as her, alright? What's it you're always – _joli_? – and okay, I say to you, guess what, sweetie? You're going to have a little brother or sister. Now what do you say? You gotta act all surprised, alright? So what do you do?"

Lynnie seemed to pause and contemplate for a moment. And then she was up, leaping forward and throwing her arms around his neck, kissing the side of his face over and over and giggling and squealing. "Ma-ma! Je t'ai-aime!"

As he laughed and caught her and tickled her he found himself thinking back to what he'd done when she'd told him – hadn't exactly thrown his arms around her and kissed her, to be sure, though she'd also said it with a voice that was more well-shit than anything else, her face twisted into an ironic little smile, her whole body tense – _I can't believe I'm saying this, Han, but I think I might be pregnant (_ followed up by _I don't know what to do Han, I really don't even know what to say, how could we possibly have let this happen, I am so furious with myself I can barely speak)_ – what had he done, had he raised his eyebrows and said _that so_ and asked her, slow and deliberately unreadable, what she wanted to do? Made sense at the time – what being a grownup was, being cautious, thinking about things from every angle. To walk with trepidation, consider all sides.

What it meant to be a kid, to be Leia's kid – responding to the possibility of brother or sister by throwing your arms around your mam and squealing – unambiguous excitement and joy and surprise, disbelief – a baby, there? My Mama, a baby? Because it was a bit shocking, when you thought about it – nothing into something, a puking princess into a plus sign into a heartbeat you could hear. Because their kid didn't yet know how to worry, didn't know how to be anything but ecstatic. Because any child of Leia's, found on the furthest edge of the galaxy or from inside of her, was probably a child worth jumping and hugging over. When was the last time he'd hugged her like that?

"Okay, okay, but listen, ya gotta be careful, alright? 'Cause your mam's a bit more delicate now, with the baby inside and all. So, you and me can keep on as always but you've gotta be more gentle with her. You got that?"

"Gentle my Mama parce que my baby, mhm."

"C'you show me gentle?"

"Ye-es." She gave him a very exaggeratedly soft hug, her movements slow and sleepy and smiley. "Maaaamaaaa," she whispered, giggling a little at the charade. "I lo-ove you…"

"Good. She loves you even more, sweetie." He ruffled her hair a little, grinning. "And I think you're alright, too."

"Daddy tu est alwight too," she said, completely serious, looking up at him.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it."

The next morning, Han got Lynnie up himself, both to let Leia sleep in a bit and also to remind her of what they talked about. It turned out, of course, that he didn't need to remind her: the very first thing she said – after stretching her arms out adorably and yawning, her little nighttime braids bouncing – was "Daddy I my baby now? Play sih-plait go is draw?"

Han laughed, shushing her and tickling her and thereby undermining the shushing. "She's still in your mama's pocket, silly. And remember, secret, right? Our secret?"

She frowned at him as he scooped her out of the bed. "Mama know is pocket?"

"No yeah, Mama knows about the baby, Mama just doesn't know _you_ know. And we're gonna keep it that way, right? So Daddy doesn't get in trouble, huh?"

"No trouble Daddy," Lynnie said urgently, lifting up her arms so he could help her out of her nightgown.

"Yeah, I don't want trouble either, kiddo."

"Be good otay?" she said worriedly as he got her into her dress for the day. "No is trouble."

"Yeah Lyn," Han promised her, laughing, "I'll be good, don't worry about me."

As he fixed her breakfast, Han listened to Lynnie sing-song to herself in her shy little whisper, kicking her legs eagerly: "baby-j'taime-my-mama-my-mama…" He felt that feeling in him again, surging, like yesterday: pure, unadulterated joy. Joy he hadn't felt like he had really gotten to express about the new baby because of all of Leia's fears, her insistence on keeping this under wraps as much as possible, her anxieties about miscarrying he knew were based on all of Breha's even though that didn't make much sense. And his own anxieties that were feeding off of Leia's: about how he'd _just_ felt like Lynnie was starting to really, truly trust him unconditionally, about how just because he could do one kid didn't mean he'd be good with two, about how fragile babies were, about Leia's health. How _good_ it felt, how perfect, to watch someone be just purely _happy_ about a baby, their baby – _yes it was_ something be excited about, _yes it was_ something good – good, and right, and happy. Like Lynnie knew something they didn't.

And then Leia strode into the room, rubbing her eyes and skimming a datapad, muttering in Alderaanian about running late – so wrapped up in her frustration that she practically tripped over the toddler who'd been waiting for her for twenty minutes with an especially shining smile and who immediately wrapped her arms around Leia's legs. "B'jour, Mama," she said, her voice almost reverent, planting a kiss on each of her mother's knees.

"Oh, hi baby, good morning – hi, hi…" she murmured, bending down to kiss the top of her head absentmindedly. "Mm, you're very affectionate today, that's very sweet – do you have the things for your hair? We'll have to be quick… are you excited to come into work with me today?"

"That today?" Han asked, trying to hide his panic.

"Yes-yes-yes, Bring Your Daughter To Work Day, my _favorite_ holiday as a child, I said so in _every_ relevant class assignment, because I loved to mess with my father's staff – and now it's my favorite once again you know, because now _I_ get to bring _you_ to _my_ work to mess with _my_ staff – let me go get those hair things."

"I do it, otay? Mama go sit. D'accord?"

"Oh! That's sweet…? But I can do it 'loved, just go get the bands and things."

"Mama _sit_ s'il vous plaît."

Lynnie eagerly kissed her knees again, three times, and ran off to get her hair things as Leia sat down at the table to return to her work. She was so consumed in it, actually, that it took her a few moments to realize Lynnie had returned, sitting down across from her and just sort of staring at her with enormous, loving, awestruck eyes. What she'd whispered to him last night, over and over into his ear as he tried to put her to bed, and at least three times again this morning, tugging on his pants leg and whispering kinda shy: _My mama? Dans son ventre? My mama really?_ My _mama?_

"'Loved! You startled me – do you need something?"

Lynnie blinked at her and blushed, sucking on her fingers and looking frantically at Han. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head just a bit, brought a finger to his lips – could a toddler pick up on decently subtle cues? More importantly, could _this_ toddler? _I don't want to tell her until everything is absolutely solidly safely along, until we've really thought about the perfect way to explain it, until we're certain it won't cause any upset…_

"Nuh-uh."

"Then why are you staring at me? It's not very polite…"

"'Cause… 'cause. 'Cause-'cause. Je… t'…aime…!"

She was already distracted again, trying to fight off nausea and keep a piece of fruit down while catching up on work. "Oh… that's nice… I love you too, precious. Are you – you must be very excited to be coming to work with me today, aren't you dear? Now come here, I need that comb and I need that very beautiful hair. Thank you. Now. Braids or buns?"

Lynnie was just as loving and obsessive at Leia's work, following her around doggedly and eagerly, trying valiantly to push open doors for her and offering to take her notes. (Because Lynnie could not write, naturally, this mostly resulted in many, many diligent scribbles.) "Mama tu joli. Mama je t'aime," she kept insisting, grabbing her hand and kissing it until Leia had to pull it away and pet Lynnie's hair, asking with an amused smile, "What's gotten into you, darling?"

"No is in me Mama!" she insisted back, blinking at her.

"You're such a silly girl. Are you worried I'm going to forget?"

"Mama forget?"

"Forget that you love me? Are you thinking perhaps that you need to keep reminding me that you love me? I promise I always remember. Always," she assured, stroking her face, poking her dimple and grinning.

"No is… slip away in my head 'cause… playing or… or – or stories or… and then is 'member and gotta say. 'Cause… gotta is know sih-plait Mama? Know otay? Gotta je t'aime je'taime," Lynnie insisted, chewing on her sleeve.

"Well. I love you too, silly girl, so very much," Leia assured her, smiling a little confusedly. Lynnie scrambled up into her lap, and she winced just slightly, bringing her fingers to her lips and grimacing. "Oh – honey, I'm so sorry – I think I need to use the 'fresher – give me one second. Let me just go find someone to mind you…" She set Lynnie down on her desk chair and slipped out of the office for a second.

"Mama! Where is go!" Lynnie called worriedly.

"To the 'fresher and to find you a minder, don't worry darling. Carlist?" she called, before popping back into the office, Carlist Riekken in tow. "Lynnie, you remember General Riekken – Carlist, would you mind watching her for just a second? I'm just going to head to the 'fresher, I'm sorry, my stomach's been acting up… Je reviens tout de suite, 'loved. Be good now."

She kissed Lynnie's hair and rushed out; Lynnie, in turn, stuck her thumb in her mouth and peered up at him. He shuffled slightly, smiling at her – Leia's daughter, Bail Organa's granddaughter, her hair in a messy approximation of revolutionary buns. Thinking about Bail Organa struggling to wrangle little Leia's hair into braids, remembering giving Bail advice based on his efforts on his own daughters' hair – _tiny elastics,_ he remembered suggesting, _you need those teeny-tiny elastics._ Did Leia remember?

"Are you enjoying visiting your Mama's work?" he asked gently in Alderaanian, and the girl widened her eyes at him, shocked and delighted.

"From where I is from…?" she whispered, hushed and thrilled.

"Mhm, I'm from Alderaan as well," he said, giving her another warm smile.

"Talk like my Mama et moi."

"Well, I should think so. We speak the same language, after all. We're one people."

"My Mama est tres joli…"

"She is, she is very pretty. And very smart, too. Just got a promotion, moving up in the world. You've got a great role model in her."

"Je l'aime…"

"Yes, I can tell. And she loves you very much as well, you know."

"I like talk like my Mama. 'Cause special."

"It is, it's very special."

"My baby is talk Alderaan?" she couldn't help but ask.

"… pardon?"

"When is come out my mama's pocket – parce que my Daddy no is talk but my Mama is et also I talk special aussi…"

"When – your baby––?"

"My _Mama's_ baby… dans her _pocket_ …"

He looked at her for a second, then asked, tilting his head to the side, "Is your Mama going to have a baby, Lynnie? Is that right?"

Lynnie nodded blithely, then asked again, "Talk is me et Mama et tu?"

"Well," Carlist began, smiling broadly. "I think if you talk to him or her enough, they're sure to pick it up. In fact…"

He was deep into an explanation, enrapturing Lynnie, when Leia returned, sipping mint tea she'd fetched and looking a bit worn. "I'm glad you two hit it off," she said, raising her eyebrows, then letting out an "Oof! Careful!" when Lynnie raced to her and hugged her legs, kissing her knees again.

"It was lovely as always, Miss Lynnie," Carlist said warmly, then he squeezed Leia's shoulder. "And, Princess – I'm sure we'll discuss further later, and I do have to hurry off to a meeting, but – congratulations!"

She blinked at him, smiling but confused. "Pardon?"

"I just found out – congrats!" he said again, grinning, before rushing out.

"You hadn't heard? Oh – thank you!" she called afterwards. "I suppose – the promotion – well. Well. We should probably go stop by and say hi to my assistant… I share her so the office is down the hall – are you up for an adventure, my love?"

Lynnie hugged her mother's legs. "Tu is go?"

"Come with me – we'll go exploring."

"I stay here d'accord?"

"You're such a funny little thing – c'mon now, don't be so shy. Don't you want to meet some of your mama's friends?"

"I fwiend."

"Of course you are, honey."

"Et daddy et mon oncle Luke Skywalker."

"Surely I'm entitled to more friends than that, yes? And I think some of them brought their own little girls – you could play with them?"

Lynnie shifted a little, weighing the option. "I pway you otay?"

"Okay. You and I can just play too. But we are going to go just walk down the hall to see Kirin, I know she has better castle-construction tools than I do here."

"… I go amis?"

"We can bring your amis too, yes. Deal?"

"… oui."

They inched down the hall that way, Lynnie taking slow, nervous steps, insisting on walking in front of her mother while holding her hand as if her little guard pup, her other thumb firmly in her mouth with one of her amis tucked in her elbow. "I go _first_. See _otay_ ," she insisted in a small but forceful whisper, her eyes determined, as Leia flashed some looks of apology at the harried staffers trying to move quickly around them.

A pause, though, for the group clumped in the hallway: one of Leia's close friends, Amilyn Holdo, whose wife worked in Leia's department and who had brought in their infant daughter to visit. "Amilyn!" Leia cried, beaming and hugging her, only for Lynnie to firmly insert herself in front of Leia's legs like a line of defense, interrupting the hug protectively. "Oof – Amilyn, you remember Lynnie – honey, come on," Leia said, squatting down and laughing a little. "What're you doing?"

"…nothin' otay? No is trouble."

"I know you're not in trouble, you're just being rather standoffish – you remember Amilyn? My friend? She has a name like yours, remember? Like you and your amis – amis… lyn…"

Lynnie held her grip on Leia's leg and shook her head as Amilyn laughed.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her, she's been like this all day," Leia said graciously.

"Protective little squirt, huh?" Amilyn laughed, smiling warmly.

"No squirt," Lynnie whispered into Leia's knee.

"What's that, darling?"

"No is squirt. Girl."

"She wants you to know that she's not a squirt, she's a girl," Leia translated, trying to stifle her giggles. "Anyway – let me see her – oh, she's so sweet…" she marveled politely, smiling at the baby.

"Here, you should hold her."

"Oh no – that's okay… I'm no good with babies…"

"What! You can deal with Imperial warlords but you're 'no good with babies'?"

"I'm really not, they instantly begin to cry when they see me, I think it's the hair… here, we've been walking _awfully_ slow, why don't I go grab the things I need from Kirin's office myself, and you can wait here, Lyn. Huh? D'accord? Attends ici, je reviens tout de suite. You can watch her for just a minute, Ami, right?"

Amilyn agreed easily, and before Lynnie could protest, her mother was striding quickly down the hall, gliding in that cool, perfect way of hers, like something from another time and place. Sometimes she thought her mother was an angel, except angels weren't really real, or maybe they were, it was a very complicated question.

"You don't have to talk to me at all," Amilyn was assuring her. "But would you like to say hi to my baby? She's not much of a conversationalist but she's very sweet."

"Hi baby?"

"Mhm, here," Amilyn said, and she picked her up so Lynnie was standing on the edge of the stroller, Amilyn holding her in place. "Can you see?"

"Oui," Lynnie whispered. "I see."

"Say hi? See, she's awake – look, she's looking at you."

"Hi baby," Lynnie whispered, and when the baby gurgled a bit and stuck out her tongue, she gasped, scandalized. "Is do spit!"

"Yeah, she gets away with it 'cause she's a baby… Pretty silly huh?"

"Silly… baby… hi…" Lynnie whispered, and she plucked her amis from her elbow and waved it gently by the baby's feet. "Hi is my amis otay? Hi!"

The baby laughed, and Lynnie whipped her head around again in shock. "Is laugh! I go – et is laugh!"

"Yep, she thinks you're pretty funny I guess."

"My baby is laugh?"

"What's that, hon?"

"My baby do laugh and spit?" Lynnie asked, blinking up at her.

"Your baby – s'this your baby?" Amilyn asked, pointing to the ragged stuffed animal.

"No-o – c'est mes amis – my _baby_ …"

"Where's your baby? Is she at home?"

" _My_ baby est in _pocket_."

"She's in your pocket?"

"Mama pocket et small," Lynnie confessed. "Et do spit et laugh?"

"Your mama's pocket? How's she fit a baby in there, silly?"

"Dans _belly_ ," Lynnie explained, exasperated, just as her mother returned, and _then_ it finally clicked and Amilyn hugged her friend tightly and laughed, "Not good with babies! You fiend! Leia!"

"Ah – why exactly am I a fiend?" Leia asked, smiling uncertainly.

"This is so perfect – they can alternate clothes, you can give this one Lynnie's hand-me-downs and then I'll return them to you… I'd offer you my maternity things but I think the height different can't be overcome – you are such a little snake, _oh, I'm no good with infants_ – Leia Organa!"

"I – I really – who told you that?" Leia asked frantically.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry – if you'd wanted me to know, you would've told me, I know, but you're too private for your own good sometimes – don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"No I – I mean – how did you…" Leia frowned, looking at her friend seriously. "How did you find out?"

"Little Miss _my baby in my mama's pocket in her belly_ over here gave it away," Amilyn said. "Don't be too hard on her for spilling – I pulled it out of her, it's all my fault."

"I… what?" In a second she was squatting down, peering at Lynnie worriedly. "Lynnie? Why did you tell mama's friend that I'm going to have a baby?"

"… no trouble," Lynnie said from around her thumb, which she'd shoved into her mouth nervously.

"You're not in trouble – I just am trying to – who told you that, darling?"

"… no trouble Daddy otay?"

"Ah," Leia said, standing back up. "Looks like she and Han had a little chat without my having been told. If you don't mind, I'm just – I'm going to go sort this out. We'll catch up soon?"

"Of course," Amilyn said, smiling a little. "Good luck."

Back in Leia's office, Leia sat cross-legged on the floor wearing a contemplative expression, Lynnie hugging her waist urgently and whispering small apologies. "You're not in trouble, honey, I'm not mad at you," Leia promised, stroking her hair. "No one's mad at you, you didn't do anything wrong."

"No trouble?" she whispered, peeling her face away from Leia's blouse.

"No trouble. None. Listen to me. I'm just worried about you. I'm worried about how you'll take to all these changes."

"No change?"

"No – I mean things will change, I just worry it's too much, too fast – I worry you need more stability. I worry… I worry about so much, darling," she confessed, sighing. "I worry about so, so much."

"I no worry otay?"

"Liar," Leia said playfully. "You're just like me, you worry all the time!"

"I no worry," Lynnie repeated, but she sighed and laid down on the rug, resting her cheek on Leia's thigh. "Mama?"

"Yes dear."

"… my baby."

"Uh-huh," Leia replied distractedly, sighing again.

Lynnie frowned, then picked up her stuffed animal. In a quiet whisper, she sing-songed "Doo-doo-doo, go-is-laugh, go-is-play, my-baby-sih-plait-et-small…" and waved the tattered thing back and forth in front of Leia's abdomen.

"Whatcha doing, 'loved?" Leia asked, squinting a little in confusion.

"No is laugh," Lynnie declared, frowning. "Baby is laugh no is laugh."

"What?"

"Baby is _laugh…_ doo-doo-doo…" She waved the toy again. "No is laugh? Ha-ha-ha?"

Leia blinked, then laughed herself, feeling suddenly, vividly emotional. "Amilyn's baby. Amilyn's baby laughed when you – no honey, if it laughed you wouldn't be able to hear her because she's all deep inside here, remember?"

"Oh. Is laugh inside?"

"I don't know," Leia said, unable to stop herself from beaming. "Maybe."

"I do otay?"

"Okay."

"Doo-doo-doo… tu-play-moi… my-baby… je-t'a-ime…"

There was something about it – how she looked so earnestly and eagerly right at her abdomen, how she sang with such quiet seriousness, how she offered up her favorite friend without hesitation – that made so much fear evaporate off of Leia like puddles after rain – leaving everything so clean and bright.

"You're _my_ baby," Leia insisted, scooping Lynnie up into her arms and hugging her tightly. "You're my baby, my baby."

"Deux!"

"Two babies, my apologies – that's correct. You're a very good counter."

"My baby et my baby is deux is."

"Yes, that's right," Leia said, marveling at that unexpected sum. "Two."

 _#_

 _Love to you all!_


End file.
